The Curse of the Santa Quintero
by IcyWaters
Summary: Sergeant Garcia becomes enchanted by the newest resident of Los Angeles, a woman with a dark past and fortune hunters on her trail. Based on the Walt Disney Zorro series.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: This story is based upon characters appearing in the Walt Disney Zorro television series. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made. I don't own 'em, I'm just a fan wanting to keep the spirit of a favorite show alive.

Author's Note: My heartfelt thanks go out to Ida Mirei for her wonderful feedback and encouragement. Without her to bounce ideas off of, I would never have attempted this story. :-)

* * *

**The Curse of the Santa Quintero**

**Prologue**

**Off the coast of Alta California  
****1771**

"All hands on deck!" Capitán Marquez yelled from the stern of the _Santa Quintero_.

Waves crashed at the galleon, violently rocking the ship and tossing the crew. The capitán grabbed the wheel, struggling to keep control. "Lower the topsails and drop the rudder!" he ordered.

Sheets of rain poured down, extinguishing the lanterns faster than the crew could light them. The capitán couldn't even see to the bow of the ship. The storm obstructed the glow of the moon and stars, leaving the crew to battle the gale in darkness. The only visibility came from the bolts of lightning streaking across the sky.

"Sir, we need to drop anchor," the first mate challenged, approaching the stern, shielding his face from the battering rain with his arm.

"You dare question me?" Marquez seethed. "Now is not the time for a mutiny, Sanchez."

"But Capitán, we've been battling this storm for three days. Our bearings could be hundreds of miles off course," the first mate argued. "We could hit ground any time."

The capitán dismissed the first mate. "In a few hours, we'll be docking in Ensenada De Todos Santos and enjoying the affections of the local women."

A large swell slammed against the ship, washing crew members overboard. Their horrified cries cut through the deafening wind as clear as day. "Look at the men we're losing!" Sanchez faced Marquez. "If you don't give the order, I will," he dared.

A flash of light illuminated the sky. The malevolence in the capitán's eyes was unmistakable. He raised his hand and struck Sanchez hard across the jaw, sending the first mate slumping to the deck.

Another wave hit, rocking the _Santa Quintero_ and tilting the ship's starboard side dangerously into the water. Before the ship could upright, a larger surge hit, and the unmistakable sound of cracking wood permeated the air. The force knocked Marquez and the crew to their knees. Swells of water swept over the deck, claiming more men to the ocean's depths.

"We're shipwrecked!" sounded the cries of the crew. "We're taking on water!"

"Damn," Marquez cursed. "Load the cargo on the lifeboats," he demanded, grabbing the first burning lantern he came across. The capitán headed below deck with the remaining men, ensuring the crates with the most value were loaded first.

He remained below, sheltered from the brutal conditions above as long as he could, while the crew worked. When battering rains and wind began breaking the _Santa Quintero_ apart and filling the cargo holds with sea water, Marquez abandoned the bounty. "Grab the ammunition and food," he ordered, shoving pistols and bags of gun power into his arms.

Marquez made his way above deck, finding the lifeboats in the water below with help from the bright flashes of light in the sky. He dropped a few of the items in his grasp for the men below to catch, and scurried down the side of the ship as best he could without dropping the rest. Once in the lifeboat, he gave orders to start rowing.

The waves continued hammering them, throwing the small boats into to jagged rocks in the waters around them. A wall of water smashed into them and the men screamed in horror, struggling to grab hold of anything to keep them afloat. Rain continued to beat down and the wind whipped about, showing no mercy.

* * *

Warm rays of sunshine beat down on the left side of Capitán Marquez's face and he slowly turned his head and opened his eyes. His throat was parched, so he tried swallowing and nearly choked on the grits of dirt and sand stuck to his lips and tongue. He struggled to sit up, every muscle in his body aching in protest.

His eyes finally adjusting to the bright glare, he surveyed the scene around him. Prone bodies of his crew were scattered over the stones and beach. A few men were awake and alert, tending to injuries, but most were lying eerily still.

Marquez spotted a barrel floating in shallow water, stood and staggered his way over to it. When some of the men saw him, they joined in and hauled the object to shore. They broke the top off and began drinking the much needed brandy.

Feeling invigorated, the capitán began checking on the still bodies. Of the crew of over two hundred men that sailed out of Manila in the Philippines, only eighteen remained breathing on the beach.

"What are we to do, Capitán?" one of the men approached.

"Start gathering the cargo that made it to shore," he ordered. He looked at the lands surrounding them. "There should be some caves in the rocks over there," he pointed up the shore a few feet. "We'll hide it in there until we find out where we are and can get reinforcements to transport it."

The crew moaned, but under Marquez's threatening glare they obeyed. When the task was completed several hours later, he decided to explore the area. "We have a batch of dry gun power," he indicated a small barrel. "Load up any pistols and muskets you can find."

The crew did as ordered and the motley group set out in search of a settlement. "We should be just south of Ensenada, and the army is always doing maneuvers in these parts of Mexico," he stated with confidence. They walked several miles inland, the rocky coast disappearing behind them, replaced with drier terrain and hills.

Hearing the sound of hoof beats in the distance, Marquez turned his attention expecting to see the familiar blue and red uniforms of the Spanish Army. But he was badly mistaken.

"Indians!" the men cried as the riders came closer. They made a mad rush for cover, but found scant places to hide in the scraggly brush. Gunshots from his crew echoed around him and Marquez watched in terror as the man nearest to him was struck by an arrow and fell to the ground.

He aimed his pistol and fired, one of the Indians dropping to the ground. His victory was short lived as he felt the stabbing pain of an arrow pierce his abdomen. Marquez fell to the ground, grasping his side, and watched his men get slaughtered while darkness consumed him.


	2. Chapter I

**The Curse of the Santa Quintero**

**Chapter I**

The wonderful aromas of fresh baked bread and roasted chicken filled the office. Sergeant Garcia looked out over the feast on his desk, his mouth watering in delight. The payroll had arrived without incident, and even better, he didn't spend all of his money in the tavern last night and saved a little for today.

The sergeant sat down in the chair and poured himself a glass of red wine. He picked up a white napkin, tucking it over the collar of his uniform. He gazed lovingly at the cooked bird sitting atop a platter, the skin a crisp golden brown and the meat undoubtedly tender and juicy underneath. He wiggled his fingers in delight and pulled a leg off the chicken.

Just as the delectable drumstick was nearing his lips, a knock on the office door interrupted his lunch. He sighed, lowered his hand and before he could say 'enter,' Corporal Reyes walked in.

"Sergeant, the stagecoach has arrived," he said in a sleepy voice.

Garcia looked at the clock on the small table to his right. "It is an hour early," he announced.

"Sí," the corporal stated, his eyes widening when he finally noticed the food on the desk. "Is that all for you, Sergeant?" he asked in a more alert tone.

"But what is the coach doing here so early?" Garcia pondered. "Especially on today of all days," he added, wistfully looking at his meal.

"I don't know, but you can ask the driver yourself," Reyes answered. "He is out in the plaza."

"Well, of course the driver is out in the plaza if he has arrived," the sergeant stated with annoyance, shaking his head at the other man's logic.

"Is this all for you, Sergeant?" Reyes repeated.

"Of course it is just for me, Corporal," Garcia responded. "The innkeeper would not have brought it to my office if it wasn't for me, and if I had a guest, they would be here with me right now." He stood, giving the meal a longing glance. The sergeant picked up his hat and walked out the door, suddenly realizing the other soldier was not behind him.

He stopped, turned around and stepped through the doorway. Corporal Reyes was sitting down at the desk, tucking the sergeant's napkin over his collar and picking up the sergeant's drumstick.

"Attention!" Garcia yelled.

Reyes jumped to a standing position, knocking the chair over in his haste.

Garcia wiggled his finger. "You come with me, Corporal."

"But you don't want this going to waste, do you, Sergeant?" he asked, straightening the chair.

"It will not go to waste, Corporal," Garcia countered. He waved his arm in a sweeping motion to urge the lower ranking soldier out the door. Reyes reluctantly exited the office with the sergeant behind him. Once outside, Garcia pulled a key from his pocket and locked the door.

The two soldiers crossed the plaza to where the stagecoach was parked. Garcia looked around. "Where are the passengers, Pietro?"

"There is only one passenger today, Sergeant," Pietro, the driver, answered. "She is sitting over there in the shade." He pointed to the porch outside the tavern. "I have already unloaded her luggage. If that is all, I must take care of the horses before leaving for San Luis Rey."

Garcia nodded, his eyes focusing on this stranger to the pueblo. It was extremely unusual for a woman to travel alone. A young, strong-minded señorita might try to defy tradition; but even then, she would at the very least have a duenna with her, if not also a male relative. An older señora would show more wisdom and always make a trip with her husband or son. If they were not available, an older daughter, servant or another señora would accompany her.

The sergeant walked toward her, stopping in his tracks when she rose from her seated position and stepped into the sunlight. He barely registered Corporal Reyes bumping into him and mumbling something about fat sergeants under his breath. The woman was absolutely stunning.

She was dressed in a dark green gown that seemed custom fitted to her hourglass figure, and her raven hair was pulled back into a fashionable style at the nape of her neck. The sun's warm rays glistened off her creamy complexion. She was the definition of beauty.

He climbed the stairs, stopping a few feet away from her. "I am Sergeant Demetrio Lopez Garcia, acting Commandante of the Pueblo de Los Angeles," he said with a gentle voice, instead of the usual booming announcement.

Upon closer appearance, the woman was not as young as the sergeant had initially figured. Garcia guessed that she was maybe in her late thirties. There were small lines around her lips and faint crow's feet at the edges of her eyes. Her skin tone was still creamy, but the texture looked to have a rougher quality to it compared to many of the upper class women. These minor imperfections only enhanced her beauty.

Drawn to her eyes once again, he was struck by the hollow emptiness in them. Those green orbs should have sparkled with life, but instead they held sadness. For a brief moment, he felt utter sympathy for this stranger. He shrugged it off and continued with his duty. "I am required to make a report of all visitors to our pueblo and must ask you some questions," he explained, adding in a hesitant tone, "If that is okay with you."

"I do not wish to interfere with a soldier in the King's Army during the performance of his duties, Sergeant," she responded. "What do you need to ask me?"

"What is your name and where are you from?" Garcia inquired, pleased that she was cooperative.

"I am Eva del Lugo from San Rafael," she answered.

"It is nice to meet you, ah…" he paused, "Señorita?"

"It is señora," Eva corrected.

Garcia's shoulders slumped with disappointment at learning this new bit of information. Of course a woman of her grace and standing would be married. He mentally kicked himself for thinking such foolish thoughts. She was in a social class far above him. Besides, what would she see in a lowly, overweight sergeant?

"Your husband did not come with you?" Garcia asked with sincere curiosity.

"My husband is dead," Eva stated matter-of-factly.

"I am sorry for your loss," he offered, removing his hat and bowing his head in respect.

"I am not."

Garcia's head shot up and his eyes widened in shock at her comment. He stared intently at this very strange Señora del Lugo. There was no amusement in that statement, nor was there any hint of malice. Her manner was polite, but not friendly. She held herself with poise, yet she didn't seem approachable, neither was she standoffish.

Sergeant Garcia was quite aware that he didn't understand the fairer sex, hell, most men didn't, but this woman standing just a few feet away defied all common sense. He simply could not figure her out. He cleared his throat to break the uncomfortable silence setting in around them. "What brings you to Los Angeles and how long will you be staying?"

"I have purchased a small shop on the edge of town," Eva replied. "Since I will be running it, I suppose my stay shall be indefinite."

The surprises kept coming for the sergeant. "You are going to run a store?" he asked incredulously. Women of the upper class did not concern themselves with such matters of business. Hmm, there was Señorita Dolores Bastinado who was one of the richest women in California and owned most of San Pedro. But she was hardly of the same refinement as Señora del Lugo.

"Sí, Sergeant," Eva smiled for the first time, her eyes lighting up. Garcia's heart pounded faster. "It will be a small bakery with breads, pies, cakes and other sinful pastries."

Sergeant Garcia's mouth began watering just at the thought of such delicious items. He was suddenly reminded of the lunch waiting for him in his office. His brow furrowed and he turned, looking around the plaza for Corporal Reyes. The lancer was nowhere to be seen.

He took a deep breath and clenched his fists.

"You do not like pastries?" Eva asked with a hint of merriment.

The sergeant spun his attention back to the señora. "Oh, no, Doña Eva, I like pastries very much," he said, rubbing his belly. She laughed softly at this and Garcia's smile spread from ear to ear. "It sounds like a wonderful idea," he added, "and I meant no disrespect, but I just realized I have lost my corporal."

"Well then, Sergeant," she smiled, "you should return to your duties and find this missing corporal of yours."

"Gracias," Garcia bowed. He started down the steps and paused. "Where will you be staying?"

"At the inn," she replied, waving her hand towards the building behind her. "The stagecoach driver took my luggage inside after it was unloaded. He informed me a representative of the army would need to speak with me, so I waited out here for you since it is such a lovely day."

The sergeant nodded his head in understanding, bid her adiós and headed back to the cuartel. Yes, it was a lovely day, wasn't it? Autumn was approaching and the days were still warm, with the uncomfortably hot afternoons becoming fewer. A light breeze from the west and a few clouds in the sky made it perfect weather.

While crossing the plaza, he turned back for another glimpse of the beautiful señora who would soon run a bakery. Could there be a more perfect woman in California? He watched her disappear inside the doorway and continued on his way with a goofy grin.

When Garcia got to his office, he reached into his right pocket for the key. It wasn't there. He searched his left pocket and then rechecked the right. The moment of confusion quickly passed, replaced by a growing furor. He reached out and grasped the door handle. It was unlocked. The acting commandante straightened to his full height and barged into the room.

The noise startled Corporal Reyes who was seated at the desk, causing him to tip backwards in the chair, dragging the remnants of the pilfered chicken with him to the floor.

"Corporal!"

* * *

Sergeant Garcia entered the tavern and looked around expectantly. His heart dropped when he didn't spot Señora del Lugo. While walking through the plaza, he kept an eye out for her but she wasn't out there either. He had not seen her since her initial arrival yesterday and found himself hoping he would run into her again soon.

Shaking his head, he turned to leave and bumped into Bernardo, the de la Vega manservant. "Oh, hello, little one," Garcia said, reaching out to keep the smaller man from falling down.

The deaf-mute smiled and nodded his head in gratitude at the lancer.

Garcia waved to him and returned the smile. "Buenos días, Don Diego," he added as the caballero walked through the tavern door.

"Buenos días to you, too, Sergeant," Diego de la Vega greeted. "What has you in such a hurry this afternoon that you nearly ran over Bernardo?"

"I was not in any hurry, Don Diego," Garcia responded. "I was just heading back to the cuartel."

"Ahh, so official business calls you away," the young de la Vega surmised. "I suppose this means you will not have time to join me for some refreshments."

"No, I am afr…" The sergeant's expression perked up at this offer. "There is nothing urgent that needs my attention, so I would be delighted to have a drink with you."

Diego chuckled and patted the sergeant on the back. The two men sat at a table by the window while Bernardo went to the bar. Carlotta brought out a tray with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

"I was surprised to hear that Corporal Reyes is helping Pablo fertilize his crops," Diego remarked. "He has never before shown any interest in farming."

Sergeant Garcia couldn't suppress a grin at the inquisitive look on his friend's face. He snorted, trying to hide a laugh when he thought of the corporal shoveling all that manure. Well, that is what he gets for stealing the acting commandante's lunch.

"As you know, Don Diego, Pablo is very new to farming. He only just purchased his small piece of land and does not have anyone to help him with the daily tasks," Garcia reasoned. "I thought it would be nice to send one of the lancers to help him."

"So, this has nothing to do with the corporal eating your lunch yesterday?"

Garcia nearly choked on the gulp of wine he was swallowing. "Where did you hear that?" The young don's eyes twinkled with mischief and the sergeant shook his head. How did Don Diego always seem to know everything that was going on in the pueblo?

"Some of our vaqueros went over to help Pablo this morning," Diego answered. "They reported that the corporal is none too appreciative of his punishment."

"That blabbermouth," Garcia mumbled.

Silence crept over the table, and Garcia sat there deep in thought, barely touching his wine. He absently ran his finger over the rim of the glass.

"Is something on your mind, Sergeant?" Diego asked, observing the lancer's odd behavior.

"Oh no, Don Diego, nothing is on my mind," he replied. He picked up the glass, studying the red liquid, but not drinking it. "Well, since you asked," he paused, looking up at the young don, "Do you know a Señora Eva del Lugo?"

"She has arrived from San Rafael?" Diego responded.

"Sí, she arrived yesterday on the coach," Garcia said eagerly. "So you do know her."

"I'm sorry, Sergeant," the caballero apologized, "but I have never met Señora del Lugo."

Garcia's eyebrows crumpled in confusion. "If you do not know her, then how do you know that she was to arrive in Los Angeles?"

"Don Alfonso Moreno, one of my father's friends in San Francisco, recently wrote and mentioned that Don Javier del Lugo, her husband, died a few months ago" Diego began explaining. "It turned out that he was heavily in debt, forcing Doña Eva to sell the rancho, hacienda and most of her personal belongings to settle his obligations."

Garcia shook his head in disgust. "That is such a shame. How could a man do that to his wife?"

"I do not know, Sergeant," Diego responded in mutual distaste. "Don Alfonso wrote that she was intent on leaving Northern California and starting fresh in another pueblo. When he learned she purchased a small shop in Los Angeles, he asked if my father would keep an eye on her and make sure she was alright."

This last bit of news was of great relief to the sergeant. Don Alejandro and Don Diego were good men. If a friend had asked them to watch over Doña Eva, then she would be in good hands. He took a long drink from his wine glass and gazed out the window. His spirits brightened even further when his eyes fell on the señora. She was walking toward the tavern.

Garcia stood as she entered, admiring how beautiful she looked in the dark rose colored dress. "Hola, Doña Eva," he greeted, "It is nice to see you again."

"Sí, the feeling is mutual, Sergeant," she replied with a gentle smile.

Garcia's heart began beating faster again. He loved the effect her smiles had on him. A muffled sound behind him drew his attention away from the lovely woman. He turned his head and saw Diego's hand over his mouth covering a cough and realized his friend was trying to get his attention. The sergeant had been staring at Doña Eva!

"Oh, where are my manners," he said, trying to hide his embarrassment. "This is Don Diego de la Vega," he introduced his friend.

Diego stood and took her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Señora del Lugo," he bowed.

"The honor is all mine," Eva responded. "The de la Vega name is a proud one in California. Are you by any chance related to Don Alejandro?"

"Sí, I am his son," Diego answered.

"I met your father on a couple of occasions many years ago. I am only sorry that circumstances kept our families from becoming better acquainted with one another," she said rather cryptically.

The way she phrased that statement had Sergeant Garcia puzzled, especially when her whole demeanor changed back to that mysterious manner she had when he first met her. The smile he liked so much melted off her lips and the sparks died from her eyes.

Garcia looked to his friend and noticed he appeared to pick up on this strange transformation as well. He was relieved when Diego recovered quickly and asked Doña Eva to join them at their table.

"I am sorry, but I must decline," she replied. Garcia sighed in disappointment. "I only stopped by the inn to drop these off in my room before I finish running errands and ordering supplies."

Garcia noticed the papers in her hand for the first time.

"These are my copies of the final documents I needed to sign to officially become a store owner," she stated proudly, seemingly reading the sergeant's mind. He was happy to see her cheerfulness return when she spoke of her bakery.

Eva excused herself from the men, paid a quick visit to her room, and bid them adiós as she left. Garcia returned to his seat and watched her move about the plaza through the window.

"Why, Sergeant, I don't believe it," Diego exclaimed.

Garcia turned his attention from the window to his friend.

"You are smitten with our newest resident."

The sergeant shifted his weight in the chair, cast his eyes downward and tugged at the collar of his uniform, trying to hide his blushing cheeks.

* * *

The sun disappeared beyond the horizon and darkness fell on the Pueblo de Los Angeles. Sergeant Garcia looked up at the full moon, enjoying the crisp night air as he finished making his rounds for the day. He nodded to the peons still lingering in the plaza and made brief conversation with the merchants who were closing up their shops for the evening.

As he rounded the corner of the street to head back to the cuartel, his eyes fell on the tavern. His mind wandered back to his earlier conversation with Diego, and the silly idea that he was infatuated with the señora. How could his friend, who was always so smart, come up with such a ridiculous notion? Of course he was not smitten with Doña Eva…or was he?

Garcia shook the thoughts from his head and found he was standing in front of the tavern. He took a deep breath and decided to go in, if only to prove that Diego was wrong. How entering the tavern would prove the caballero wrong, he wasn't quite sure, but he knew there was sound logic in there somewhere.

The establishment was brimming with customers all eagerly watching the newest entertainers that had arrived in the pueblo. Garcia closed the door behind him and gingerly made his way to the bar, muttering apologies to everyone he bumped into on the way. He leaned up against the counter.

Music filled the air and the sergeant's attention was drawn to the young _Sevillanas_ dancers performing sultry moves in the middle of the room. He barely noticed the man, his eyes fixated on the young woman dressed in a form fitting dark blue dress. The couple moved together in unison, expertly clicking the castanets in their hands.

Garcia's shoulders began swaying to the strums of the guitar, while his foot tapped in rhythm with the clacks of the hand held instruments. He clapped enthusiastically when the number was finished. When the dancers moved to collect the pesos tossed in appreciation, the sergeant spotted Eva sitting alone at a small table wedged in the corner by the fireplace.

He weaved his way through the crowd, again mumbling apologies, stopping by the table. "Buenas noches, Señora." He took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. "May I join you?"

"Certainly, Sergeant," she responded.

Garcia quickly squeezed his large frame into an open chair between the table and the wall, afraid she would change her mind. His belly caused the table to rattle and move a few inches, and he looked sheepishly at Eva, but it didn't seem to bother her. Instead, he was greeted with one of her warm smiles that melted his heart.

"May I buy you supper?" he asked, suddenly grateful for the corporal's act of insubordination yesterday. Without the fine Reyes paid, Garcia wouldn't be able to treat her to a meal.

"I just finished eating before you arrived," she answered. "In fact, I was going to head back to my room, but when I saw you enter, I was hoping you would approach."

Garcia's eyes beamed and the goofy grin reappeared on his lips. Guitar strums began filling the air once more and a young woman dressed in bright red stepped out from behind the curtains. The couple sat together in silence and watched her begin a lively flamenco dance.

When the performance was over, Eva bid the sergeant good night and left for her room. Garcia's eyes followed her up the stairs, and when she turned back and gave him a small wave, his heart nearly pounded out of his chest.

* * *

Eva del Lugo entered her room, locking the door behind her. Without warning, she was thrown against the wall. As she stumbled, a pair of rough hands grabbed her arms and shoved her back. She looked up at the intruder, his features covered by a hat and bandana. Only his cruel, black eyes were visible in the glow of the room's lantern.

The man released his grip on her arms and used his left forearm to pin her chest to the wall. With his right hand, he pulled a dagger from the sheath at his waist and held the blade to her neck.

"Where is it?" he demanded.

"I…I don't know what you are talking about," she whimpered, closing her eyes.

"I don't have time for this nonsense, Señora," he spat, pressing the blade deeper against her skin. "Where is the map?"

"What map?" she asked in confusion, opening her eyes.

"Damn it," he swore. "Your husband won a map in a game of cards. I want it." He drew the blade along her lower jawbone, cutting into her flesh. Eva flinched at the stinging pain. "It will only get worse the longer you resist," he warned with a hint of amusement in his voice.

A knock on the door startled them both. "Señora, you forgot your shawl." Sergeant Garcia's voice was that of an angel to Eva. "Señora?" he asked again.

The intruder cursed under his breath. He sheathed his dagger and released his hold on Eva. Raising his hand back, he struck her hard across the face. She fell into the bureau, knocking the items on it to the floor.

* * *

Sergeant Garcia looked at the door with puzzlement. She could not be asleep already. He was about to knock again when a loud crash made him jump. "Doña Eva, are you alright?" he yelled. Garcia grabbed the handle; it was locked. Not waiting for a response, he stepped back and threw his weight into the door and smashed it open with ease.

He saw Eva crumpled on the floor and a man fleeing out the window. Garcia ran after the intruder, but wasn't fast enough. The sergeant could only watch helplessly as the man mounted his horse and galloped away with another rider close behind.

The commotion attracted the attention of several men in the tavern below and they rushed to the señora's room. Garcia spotted Privates Sanchez and Ortega in the growing crowd. "Assemble the lancers and catch those men," he ordered. Several of the caballeros left with the privates, and the sergeant presumed they would also give chase.

Eva moaned and Garcia turned his focus back to the woman. He crossed the room and knelt down beside her. When he gently took her arm to help her into a more comfortable position, she flinched and pulled away from him.

"Don't touch me," she hissed.

Garcia jumped back in surprise. "I was not going to hurt you, Doña Eva," he said softly. "I only wanted to help you."

She glanced around the room, her gaze finally falling on the men gathered at the door talking in hushed tones. "What are they doing here?" she asked with trepidation.

"They heard the commotion and came to offer assistance," Garcia answered.

Eva turned to the sergeant. "Make them go away." Her voice was so soft that he barely heard her.

Garcia stood and ushered the men out. When the room was empty, he suddenly realized that her quarters had been ransacked. The drawers of the bureau were tossed on the floor, the doors of the wardrobe hung open and her belongings lay strewn across the room. He knelt back down next to Eva. "You are bleeding," he gasped, seeing the cut along her jaw. "I will go get Doctor Avilla."

"No, I am fine," she pleaded. "Do not bother him."

The sergeant reluctantly agreed not to fetch the doctor, but he did go downstairs and get some water and towels to clean the wound with. He retuned with the items and sat down on the floor next to her. She took a damp towel from him and began dabbing at the cut.

Garcia studied the woman beside him, again puzzled by her behavior. Why was she not sobbing or trembling after being attacked? She seemed so indifferent. Even big soldiers like him sometimes got rattled after fights with bandits. Here she was, such a small and delicate woman. He thought back to his military training. Maybe she was in shock?

As Garcia observed her cleaning the cut, he noted the cheekbone under her right eye was red. Even the soft glow of the lantern couldn't hide the discoloration forming. His blood began to boil. How dare that scoundrel strike her!

When she finished her task, she dropped the towel and suddenly shot up and pulled a chair over to the wardrobe. Eva climbed up and searched for something on top.

"Please let me help you," Garcia offered, standing up and walking over to the wardrobe.

She didn't say anything. She pulled down a small box with a lock and held it tightly to her chest. "Madre de Dios," she exclaimed in relief. "I was afraid they stole it." Eva allowed Garcia to help her step down and she knelt on the floor, pulling a key from the folds of her dress.

"What is so important about this little box?" Garcia asked inquisitively.

"This is all the money I have left," she answered, unlocking it to make sure the pesos went untouched by the attacker.

Garcia's eyes widened in surprise. From her reaction, he expected the box to be brimming with coins, but it was nearly empty. Was this really all she had? He shook his head, silently cursing Don Javier del Lugo for not taking care of his wife properly.

Eva stood and began to straighten her things as if nothing had happened. Garcia offered to help, but she insisted she was fine and would prefer to take care of her personal items alone. The sergeant didn't want to leave her, but could understand her wanting some privacy.

He returned to the cuartel, immediately stationing several lancers around the tavern to make sure no more unwanted guests bothered the señora. He then saddled his horse and joined in on the search for the vile men who attacked Doña Eva.


	3. Chapter II

**The Curse of the Santa Quintero**

**Chapter II**

Zorro returned to the cave, handing Tornado's reins to Bernardo. "I could not find any trace of the men," he stated with disappointment. "Let me get changed and I will fill you in on all the details. Meet me upstairs when you are done taking care of Tornado."

Diego changed into his nightclothes in the secret room, slipped into his robe and peered through the spy hole. He was surprised to see his father sitting in his bedroom. He pulled the handle to open the hidden doorway.

"Father, I did not expect you to wait up for me," Diego said softly, entering his quarters.

"Did you find anything?" Alejandro asked eagerly, turning from the chessboard he was studying to look at his son.

"Unfortunately, no," he answered with a sigh. "The soldiers are everywhere. Even some of the dons and vaqueros have grouped together searching for Señora del Lugo's attackers. Any tracks they left are long gone."

"Something about this bothers me, Diego."

"From what Benito told us when he arrived back at the hacienda, it appears she simply walked in on a robbery. A widow of a prominent hacendado traveling alone would attract attention," Diego reasoned, "and not necessarily the good kind." He sat down in the chair opposite his father.

"Prominent hacendado, ha," Alejandro grimaced. "I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but Don Javier del Lugo was not the most scrupulous of men."

"Why did you not mention this before, Father?"

"There seemed to be no reason to bring it up, but the attack on Doña Eva worries me," Alejandro explained. "Don Javier had a penchant for gambling. He would bet on anything, horses, dice, cards..."

"So you think that someone has come to collect on a wager," Diego concluded.

"Perhaps," Alejandro said, "but I'm afraid of the possibility they might be after her for revenge."

This definitely got Diego's attention and he raised an eyebrow.

"Don Javier had a cruel streak that chilled me to the bones. I once heard that he wagered on whether a man sentenced to hang would die instantly from his neck snapping or slowly strangle to death," Alejandro shuddered.

"As appalling as that thought is," Diego interrupted, also disgusted by the idea, "it does not explain someone wanting to take revenge on Doña Eva."

"He was always looking for an easy fortune to cover his gambling expenses," Alejandro continued. "Remember when I told you about that gold rush in Mexico City?"

Diego nodded his head.

"Well, Don Javier was one of the first to arrive. When it turned out there was no gold, he got wind of a treasure buried in Baja California and took off in search of it." Alejandro shook his head at the absurdness of it all. "Between the gambling and wild exploits, he would neglect his rancho. The cattle would often become sick and the crops would whittle away."

"How did he manage to hang on to it for so long?' Diego inquired with avid curiosity.

"He would bully and blackmail the less affluent residents of the area into purchasing from him, sometimes even physically assaulting them," Alejandro said.

Diego thought back to his earlier meeting with the señora. "That explains Doña Eva's cryptic comment." At his father's quizzical expression, Diego detailed his conversation with her.

"I refused to do business with someone of such immoral character," Alejandro stated proudly.

Diego couldn't hide a chuckle at his father's stance. His expression turning serious, he asked: "Didn't anyone ever stand up to Don Javier?"

"Some tried, but they never succeeded," Alejandro answered. "You have seen how hard it is to fight corruption first hand with the likes of Enrique Monastario and Jose Varga. None of his victims dared bring charges against del Lugo out of fear of reprisal. Many of the dons in San Rafael and San Francisco banded together and vowed to help those that Don Javier took advantage of, but that was the most they could do."

Diego leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "If Don Javier pushed that many people the wrong way, I agree that Doña Eva may be in grave danger. I will ride into town tomorrow," he paused, looking at the clock on the fireplace mantle, "or should I say later today, and speak with Sergeant Garcia. He's a little sweet on the señora, so he should take this matter very seriously."

Alejandro rolled his eyes. "Just great, a love sick sergeant is all we need."

Diego laughed and joined his father when he rose from his seat. "It's actually rather charming." He placed his arm on Alejandro's shoulder and led him to the door.

"If you say so, my son," Alejandro said wryly. "Oh, I had better leave through the secret passage," he noted. "I entered that way so the servants wouldn't see me."

They ran into Bernardo in the secret room. He looked curiously at Alejandro, then Diego, and shrugged his shoulders to ask 'what is going on?'

"What took you so long, Bernardo?" Diego teased. "We are all done discussing matters." He observed his father suppressing a grin out of the corner of his eye.

The mute pursed his lips and placed his hands on his hips, trying to express irritation. Diego laughed, Alejandro joining in, and the younger don patted Bernardo on the shoulder. "Do not worry, my friend, I'll bring you up to speed on everything." The stern appearance melted from his features and he joined in on the friendly kidding.

Diego bid his father goodnight and explained to Bernardo the danger they feared the señora was in.

* * *

When morning came, Sergeant Garcia reluctantly opened his eyes. He looked at the clock on the nightstand and sighed heavily. His body was not meant to work on so little sleep. He dragged his weary frame out of bed and slowly got dressed.

Garcia stepped out of his office and pulled his hat on to shield his face from the bright rays of the sun. He was about to exit the gates when he spotted Corporal Reyes outside the barracks.

"What are you doing here?" the sergeant demanded, marching across the cuartel. "You are supposed to be helping Pablo."

"We finished yesterday," Reyes replied.

"You did?" Garcia asked incredulously. "That is impossible."

"No it isn't, Sergeant," Reyes argued. "Some of the de la Vega vaqueros came by to lend a hand. We were all finished by last night."

"Oh, that is right. Don Diego mentioned something about vaqueros," Garcia muttered to himself. A whiff of something unpleasant assaulted his senses. He took a deep breath and smelled the same odor again. The sergeant tilted his head and stared at the corporal. He stepped closer and sniffed.

Reyes jumped back startled. "What are you doing, Sergeant?"

"Go take a bath, Corporal," he said flatly.

"But I took one last night when I got back," Reyes declared.

"Then take another one, baboso," Garcia ordered, "and use soap."

"I did use soap," Reyes grumbled, lifting his arm and taking a whiff. His nose crinkled in protest.

"Well, use more of it," the sergeant instructed, "and launder that uniform again. When you no longer smell like a barn, meet me at the tavern. I will be talking with Señora del Lugo." He shook his head in dismay and left.

Crossing the plaza, the sergeant enjoyed the cool morning breeze and sounds of children playing games. He laughed and sidestepped an exuberant battle between two of the boys, not wanting to get run in with their wooden swords. "Was everything quiet last night?" Garcia asked approaching the tavern.

Private Hernandez jumped upon hearing his commanding officer's voice. He straightened his posture and squared his shoulders. "Si, Sergeant," he answered. "There were no more intruders."

"Good," Garcia stated. "You may go back to the cuartel. I will be inside speaking with the señora if anyone should need me."

"She is not in there," Hernandez stated.

Garcia shot him a questioning glare. "What do you mean she is not inside?"

"She…I mean…the Señora del Lugo left early this morning to tend to her store," he stammered.

The sergeant's brow crumpled. He was familiar with the location of her shop. It used to belong to Reynaldo Rios. The place had sat empty for over a year now, ever since he passed away. It could not be in any condition to open right away.

Garcia walked through the streets of Los Angeles heading north toward the new bakery. He stopped in his tracks and his jaw nearly dropped to the ground. There outside, dressed in a plain tan dress, was Doña Eva scrubbing the windows.

"What are you doing?" he exclaimed in shock.

Eva stopped her task and turned an angry eye on him. "I am getting my store ready to open."

"But you should not be doing such tasks," Garcia pleaded. He wanted to say more, but the words caught in his throat when he saw the bruise on her face. She tried to cover the ugly blue and purple discoloration on her cheekbone with powder, but it was still noticeable. And when the sun's golden rays hit her skin just right, it emphasized the thin cut along her jaw.

Those reminders of his failures sent pangs of guilt over his conscience. Garcia silently cursed that he was unable to stop the man fleeing out the window and hated that he failed to catch the monster later in the night. No woman should ever have to suffer such indignity.

"Do not pity me, Sergeant," Eva rebuked, seemingly reading Garcia's mind. She turned her attention back to the task of cleaning the windows.

"I am sorry, Señora," he apologized, "but I feel responsible for what happened last night. As the acting commandante, it's my duty to protect the citizens of Los Angeles."

"Did you send that man to my room?" she asked, not facing him.

"Of course not," Garcia exclaimed. "I would never do such a thing."

"Then you should not shoulder the responsibility for what happened," Eva responded quietly. She finally put down the rag in her hand and took a few steps closer to the sergeant. "I am sorry for snapping at you like that, you did not deserve my anger."

"You do not need to apologize to me, Doña Eva," Garcia said. "I just…" he stuttered, "It's just that I do not like seeing you hurt."

"You are very sweet," she smiled, touching his arm. The contact sent small shivers up his spine and his pulse racing. She went back and picked up the rag.

Garcia shook his head. "Why are you out here doing all of this work by yourself? It is not proper for a señora of your stature to be doing such manual labor."

"If I do not get my bakery ready to open, who will?" Eva asked, meeting his eyes. "I have put all of my money into this store. There is nothing left to hire laborers with. Besides," she added, "I am not afraid of hard work."

Garcia sighed. "The people in this pueblo are very friendly. All you have to do is ask and they would be glad to help."

"I do not need charity," she spat.

The harshness of her words caused Garcia to swallow hard and step back, afraid she would fire more angry words his way. He found her changing moods a little unsettling. "Will you at least allow me to do something?" he asked timidly. "Please?"

Eva's expression softened and Garcia exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "I would like that. You can start by pulling the weeds around my store. There is a small trowel around back along with a bucket you can put them in."

The sergeant looked around at all the unwanted little green plants sprouting from the ground. There were dozens of them, if not hundreds. Of course, he mused, it had been a good year for rain. He frowned. What did he just get himself into?

* * *

Diego de la Vega rode his Palomino toward the Pueblo de Los Angeles, accompanied by Bernardo. When the two riders reached the northern edge of the plaza, the young don pulled his horse to a stop and stared at the sight before him. Sergeant Garcia, sans the jacket of his uniform, was down on his hands and knees pulling weeds. Diego exchanged an amused grin with his manservant.

The men dismounted and Diego handed the reins of his horse to Bernardo. "Hola, Sergeant," he greeted, walking over to the building.

"Oh, buenos días, Don Diego," Garcia said, standing up and brushing the dirt from his knees. "To you too, little one," he waved to Bernardo.

"The King's Lancers are full of surprises these days," Diego commented with a smile. At the sergeant's confused expression, he clarified. "Corporal Reyes was helping Pablo yesterday, and here you are helping Doña Eva today."

"We aim to please," Garcia said, shifting a bit uncomfortably.

"Do not worry, Sergeant, I did not come to tease you about the señora," he gave the soldier a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Actually, the reason for my visit is that I heard about the attack on her last night and wanted to make sure she was alright."

"It is a terrible thing, Don Diego," Garcia sighed. "Doña Eva is okay, but those fiends got away. Over half of the garrison was out searching for them into the wee hours of the morning, including me, but there was no sign of them anywhere." He looked around to make sure no one was listening in. "I hope Zorro has better luck."

"Zorro?" Diego repeated, eyes widening in surprise. "Was he involved?"

"Oh, no, Zorro would not do something so despicable," Garcia clarified. "He may be a rascal, but he is an honorable rascal. He would never hurt a woman. I hope he is able to find the attackers. He knows the land around here better than anyone and is probably the best tracker in California."

Diego struggled to keep his features neutral, suppressing his amusement at the sergeant's praise of the masked outlaw. "Were you able to get a good description of these men from Señora del Lugo?"

Garcia's eyes turned downward. "Unfortunately, no. She said the man in her room wore a hat and had the lower part of his face covered by a bandana. The other one was waiting outside with the horses."

"Well, I am sure you will catch them, Sergeant."

"If I ever get my hands on them, they will wish that Zorro had gotten to them first," Garcia added with an uncharacteristic tinge of anger to his voice.

Diego was about to question this remark when Eva exited the front of the store, drawing the attention of the two men. At that moment, he knew what triggered the sergeant's reaction, and he struggled to control his own rage at seeing her battered face. He silently vowed he would find her attackers.

"Don Diego, it is so good to see you again," she stated warmly.

"The pleasure is all mine," the young don bowed. "As I was telling Sergeant Garcia, I came to see how you were doing after last night."

"That is very kind of you, but do not worry about me," she responded.

"If there is anything my father or I can do for you, please let us know," Diego offered. He raised an eyebrow when Garcia caught his attention, waving his hands back and forth, as if he was trying to warn off the topic of conversation.

Eva picked up on the distraction in the young don's attention and spun around to face Garcia. Diego stifled a laugh when the sergeant quickly clasped his hands behind his back and turned his head up to the sky, in a poor attempt to look casual.

"Gracias," she replied, turning narrowed eyes away from Garcia, "I appreciate your concern and will not forget your generous offer."

"It is almost time for lunch. Would you and Sergeant Garcia join me in the tavern?" Diego asked.

"We would be delighted," Garcia beamed. Eva just shook her head and smiled, saying she would be honored to join them. Diego watched the interaction between them with fascination. Yes, the sergeant was definitely smitten with the señora.

"I have some business to attend to with the blacksmith," Diego informed. "Shall we meet in a half hour?" They settled on the time and Eva returned to the interior of the store.

When she was out of sight, Garcia stepped closer to his friend. "Whatever you do, Don Diego, do not offer her any assistance with her bakery," he advised, keeping his voice down.

This sparked his curiosity. "Why not?"

"Doña Eva is very sensitive to this matter," the sergeant explained. "When I mentioned the other citizens would be happy to help her, she nearly bit my head off!"

Diego laughed, bid Garcia adiós and headed to the blacksmith's shop with Bernardo in tow.

* * *

When they were done eating lunch with Diego, Sergeant Garcia and Eva del Lugo returned to her bakery. Having finished with the windows that morning, the señora focused her attention on cleaning the upstairs living quarters. Garcia picked up a broom and began sweeping the floors downstairs. When he finished inside, he started sweeping the porch.

This is how Corporal Reyes found him.

"What are you laughing at, baboso?" Garcia questioned, trying not to sound flustered.

"At you, Sergeant," Reyes answered. "You don't do this much work around the cuartel. Private Hernandez said you were infatuated with the señora, but I didn't believe it."

Sergeant Garcia straightened his shoulders and drew up to his full height. "Corporal, do want to face another charge of insubordination? I understand Miguel Roverto needs help fertilizing his crops, too."

The corporal's jovial mood melted away. "No, Sergeant."

"Good. I did not think so," Garcia added with smug satisfaction. He walked over to Reyes and gave him a good sniff. "I see the second bath worked wonders."

"The fourth," the corporal corrected.

"Fourth?" Garcia repeated incredulously.

"Sí," Reyes clarified, "and two bars of soap."

The sergeant covered his mouth and cleared his throat, trying to cover his laugh. Corporal Reyes would definitely be leaving his meals alone from now on. "Well, now that you are all clean and smell fresh, you can help us. There is some paint around back."

"Why should I help?" he challenged. "I am not in love in Doña Eva."

"Corporal!" Garcia barked. "You can either pick up a paintbrush or return to shoveling manure." He towered over the smaller man. "It's your choice."

Reyes' shoulders dropped and his droopy features became even more crestfallen. "I will go get the paintbrush, Sergeant."

Garcia brushed his hands and nodded his head in approval as the corporal disappeared behind the back of the store. He thought he handled the situation quite well, until her heard the feminine voice behind him.

"You are terrible, Sergeant."

Garcia twisted around with a speed belying his bulky frame, meeting Doña Eva's eyes. "You…you heard?" he managed to choke out. He could feel his cheeks flushing with warmth and tugged at his collar. How much of their conversation did she overhear?

"Coercing the poor corporal into painting my store, and if he refuses, making him shovel," she paused as if searching for the right word, "fertilizer." She shook her head, "tsk, tsk, Commandante."

Garcia was about to defend his actions, but when he opened his mouth, he stopped. How would he explain Reyes' act of insubordination without repeating what the corporal said? His brow crinkled in concentration, and feeling the señora's gaze upon him, he faced her again. He was surprised to see a devilish grin on her lips.

"I may not approve of your methods, Sergeant, but gracias." There was now a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "I would never have been able to get my bakery painted on my own."

"You are welcome, Señora," he beamed, all of his earlier worries washing away. She turned and went back inside, leaving a very happy Sergeant Garcia to finish sweeping the porch.

* * *

As the sun set on the Pueblo de Los Angeles, the trio wrapped up their tasks for the day. Sergeant Garcia sent Corporal Reyes back to the cuartel and escorted Señora del Lugo to the tavern. He even gathered his courage and asked her to dinner. To his utmost delight, she accepted.

They spent the next few days in the same manner. During the daylight hours, they would work to get her bakery ready to open. Corporal Reyes painted the adobe walls with Garcia's supervision, while Eva washed the cupboards and countertops. They took a cart around to the local merchants and loaded up the supplies she purchased. Pots, pans, plates and utensils were placed in the cupboards; sacks of flour, sugar and spices were set in the pantry.

When evenings came, Garcia would dismiss the corporal and join Eva for dinner in the tavern. They would marvel at the entertainers and make polite conversation with the local citizens who dropped by their table. In between, the sergeant would tell Eva about the life of a soldier and amuse her with tales of trying to capture the outlaw Zorro.

After he escorted Doña Eva to her room each night, he would check to make sure the lancers were alert and in position around the tavern. Once he was satisfied she was properly protected from future attacks, he returned to the cuartel. Garcia even joined the search for a few hours when the patrol returned for the scheduled shift change.

During their time together, it dawned on him that she rarely ever spoke of herself, but it didn't matter. Garcia simply enjoyed spending time with her. The couple could sit in complete silence and he would be content. For when he was with her, he wasn't simply the big, fat sergeant. Eva accepted him for who he was, and that feeling was quite intoxicating.

Despite the hard work the little shop required to get ready, Garcia was surprised to find he enjoyed getting up each morning. He even looked forward to it. So when the day came for the bakery to open, the sergeant was up bright and early. Well, early for him at least.

As he walked from the cuartel down the streets, a mouth watering aroma greeted his rumbling stomach. She must have started baking at the crack of dawn. "Oh, Doña Eva, it smells absolutely wonderful," Garcia declared, entering the shop's open door.

"Gracias, Sergeant," she smiled, picking up a tray off the counter. "These are the first treats I baked. Would you like to try one?"

Garcia looked at the little pastries on the tray. And little they were. "I have not seen anything like these before," he observed. "What are they?"

"The French call them éclairs," she explained. "They are similar to donuts, but they have a creamy center and are topped with chocolate. These are a miniature version. I was thinking of charging a peso for two of them."

"A peso for two of these tiny little things?" Garcia asked incredulously. The long, skinny éclairs were not much bigger than his fingers. He could easily fit three, maybe even four, into his hand. She would never sell any at that inflated price. His reaction didn't seem to discourage her and the eager expression remained on her face.

Not wanting to disappoint the señora, the sergeant reluctantly reached into his pocket, his heart dropping when he realized he had no money. He spent it all in the tavern, treating her to dinner.

"Do not offend me, Sergeant," she said, her gentle eyes showing there was no anger in her words. "After all you have done for me, I could not accept your money. Please," she urged, "try one."

Garcia smiled. The pastries might be small, but they looked tasty. He reached out for one, but quickly pulled his hand back and wiped it on his trousers. Satisfied his hands were clean, he tried to delicately pick one up, silently cursing his chubby fingers.

He plopped the éclair in his mouth, savoring the texture and flavors. It was delicious. "Oh, I have never tasted anything so heavenly," he complimented. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"A woman must be allowed her secrets," she tantalized. "Would you like another?"

Garcia couldn't resist and grabbed a second of the little treats and stuck it in his mouth. Seeing the ecstatic expression on Eva's face suddenly made him feel embarrassed by his manners. Instead of taking a small bite like a gentleman, he shoved the whole thing in like a pig. The sergeant wanted to say something, to apologize for his rude behavior, but once again she appeared to read his mind.

"It's nice to see someone enjoying my food," Eva said cheerfully. "When a man takes such a small nibble, I always wonder if he really likes it. But with you, Sergeant, your whole expression tells me you like it and are not just being polite." She excused herself and went to check on the loaves of bread in her oven.

When the señora returned, she approached Garcia with hesitation. "You have been so kind to me since I arrived," Eva started. "May I impose upon you once again, Sergeant?"

"Why of course," he exclaimed. "I would be happy to do anything for you."

She appeared to relax a bit and gave him another one of her gentle smiles that made his heart flutter and his knees weak. "My belongings are packed up and waiting at the inn. Would you please pick them up and bring them here?"

"Here?" Garcia repeated.

"Sí," she answered with a hint of amusement. "There are living quarters upstairs for a reason."

"But you cannot live here alone," he began to argue.

"And why not?" Eva challenged. "Do you expect me to continue to pay for a room at the tavern when I have a perfectly good room above that does not cost anything?"

There was her ugly temper again. She could give Don Alejandro de la Vega a run for his money. For a brief moment, the sergeant wondered who would win a quarrel between them.

Shaking that thought from his head, Garcia sighed and threw his hands up in defeat. He wanted to continue arguing his point, but resigned. She was a stubborn one. He didn't stand a chance of winning.

* * *

Business in the tavern was winding down for the morning when Sergeant Garcia entered with Corporal Reyes following behind. He approached the innkeeper and inquired about Señora del Lugo's luggage. The proprietor pointed to the corner of the room.

"That is all she has?" Garcia asked in disbelief, looking at the two trunks. "Never have I seen a woman travel with so little." He directed Reyes to the other side, wiped his hands and braced for the weight of the luggage. "You grab that end and I will take this one."

They picked the first trunk up with surprising ease and loaded it on a cart outside. "Never have I seen a woman travel so lightly, either," Garcia muttered. The second was about the same size and weight and was transported just as easily.

When they arrived at the bakery, the sergeant was thrilled to see that Eva already had some potential customers, obviously lured in by the delightful aromas. After the older couple made a purchase, she showed the soldiers where to situate her trunks.

"Gracias, Sergeant, Corporal," she nodded, and they headed downstairs. "Now that I am settled, I can send for the remainder of my belongings from San Rafael." She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a white paper box. "These are for you, to show my appreciation."

Garcia's eyes lit up. "For me?" he asked, taking the box from her and peeking inside.

"For both of you," she corrected. "They are sugar cookies with a touch of cinnamon."

"Oh, you did not have to do this, Doña Eva," Garcia beamed, "but I am glad you did."

She laughed, and touched his arm again. Garcia's heart fluttered and he could feel his cheeks beginning to blush. He said his goodbyes, wanting to make a hasty retreat before Corporal Reyes opened his big mouth and said something stupid, but her soft voice halted him in the doorway.

"Oh, Sergeant Garcia, it was sweet of you to station your lancers around the tavern during my stay, but it's not necessary to do so around my bakery."

The warmth of his cheeks increased twofold, and Garcia knew they were no longer a light pink, but a bold red. Unable to speak, he simply smiled and nodded his head to Eva while shoving Reyes as far away from the entrance as fast as he could.

* * *

The lone rider pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted, surveying the seemingly abandoned camp in the hills fifteen miles east of Los Angeles. He kicked a few stones lying around the campfire. "I know you are here, Silvio," he shouted, "the embers are still burning."

Silvio Salazar appeared from behind a large pile of boulders and scraggly brush, shoving his pistol into the waist of his trousers. He pulled on the reins of his horse to lead the animal back to the camp.

"You do a poor job of hiding, brother," Roland stated. "Even a child would know you were close by."

"I would not have to hide if you weren't so brash," Silvio bit back. "It's because of you the soldiers are scouring these hills. Instead of just leaving the señora's room when she returned, you had to beat and cut her face."

In a flash, Roland pulled his knife and stuck the point of the blade to his brother's chin. "I would not have had to go to her room if it wasn't for your incompetence in the first place." He held the blade there, staring into Silvio's eyes for emphasis, before finally sheathing the weapon and sitting on a nearby rock.

"It's not my fault," Silvio argued, rubbing his chin.

"Not your fault?" Roland leaned forward. "My brother sends me word that he has a map to the _Santa Quintero's_ treasure, so what do I do? I put together a team of trusted men, take the first ship out of La Paz and arrive in San Rafael only to find he has lost it in a game of cards! It wasn't even in your possession for two days before you gambled it away."

"I had four queens. It was a sure thing," Silvio contended. "When Don Javier raised his bet, I couldn't just fold my hand. The pot was up to fifteen hundred pesos. Everyone knows the old fool was obsessed with the treasure, and the map was the only thing I had of value. How was I to know he had four kings?"

Roland shook his head in disgust. "I'm beginning to wonder if you ever had the map at all."

"Of course I had it," Silvio spat. "I got it from a man…"

"Who stole it from a man who killed a man," Roland trailed off, waving his hand dismissingly in the air. "You've explained it all before. What I don't understand is why you didn't steal it back right away."

"I'd rather be poor and breathing, than not breathing at all. You know damn well he would have killed anyone who got near that map." Silvio slumped down on a nearby rock. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know," Roland groaned, folding his arms over his chest. "We've searched every inch of the old del Lugo hacienda twice now and it's not there. Like you said, Don Javier was obsessed with the treasure. He would not have sold the map or trusted it with anyone. Therefore, it must have been in his possession when he died. The woman has to have it."

"But why would she be slaving away in a bakery when she could be living a life of luxury?"

"How am I supposed to know? When a woman gets knocked around that much by her husband, maybe it scrambles her brains," Roland smirked. His brows narrowed. "Perhaps she's waiting for the heat to die down, for everyone to forget that her husband had the map," he mulled, "and then she will sell it or put together her own team to find the treasure."

Silvio sighed, "That just brings us back to my earlier question. What do we do now? Search the bakery?"

"Sí," Roland replied. "I didn't have a chance to finish searching her room at the tavern. Now that she's living above the store, if she has the map, it will there."

"Let's go," Silvio stood. "We can do it tonight."

"It's easier said than done," Roland grumbled. "She's too guarded at the moment. That fat sergeant follows her around like a love sick puppy. Everyone talks of what a bumbling idiot he is, but he is not nearly as stupid as he seems. Garcia ordered the lancers to guard the tavern during her stay. Now that she is living above the bakery, there are customers during the day and he has the patrols pass by every few minutes at night."

"So, we kill him," Silvio declared.

"Now you are sounding like me," Roland snickered. "But even I am not crazy enough to kill a King's Lancer. If you think the soldiers are bad now, you don't even want to image what would happen if you kill one of their own."

Silvio sighed, dropping to the dirt ground and leaning his back against the rock. "I'm beginning to think we'll never get the map back."

"Do not worry, brother. No one can protect her twenty-four hours a day," a malicious gleam flashed in Roland's eyes. "We will keep watch on her and strike at the first opportunity."


	4. Chapter III

**The Curse of the Santa Quintero**

**Chapter III**

"It's very nice to see you again, Sergeant Garcia," Padre Felipe greeted the soldier after Sunday Mass. "It's a shame your duties for the King often keep you away from the church."

"Why, um, yes," Garcia shifted uncomfortably, "I am sorry that I cannot come more often." For a brief moment, he wondered why he let Eva talk him into accompanying her. He let out a sigh of relief when the padre gave him a warm smile and turned his attention to the señora.

It wasn't that he didn't like church, but it felt awkward attending, especially when some of the corrupt officials in Los Angeles had tried to make the church out to be the enemy. It wasn't easy facing Padre Felipe when the lancers once stood outside the mission whipping the natives. Innocent men the friar considered his children. Of course the padre found it in his heart to forgive him, but Garcia wasn't sure he could forgive himself.

While the two were chatting, the sergeant spotted the de la Vegas among the crowd and waved to them. He could use Diego's friendly face and cheerful disposition right now. The dons made their way over and Garcia introduced Alejandro to Eva.

"It's a pleasure making your acquaintance again, Doña Eva," Alejandro said, taking the señora's hand. Garcia fought a pang of jealousy at this action. "I am only sorry that business has kept me away from the pueblo. I have heard nothing but praise for the enchanting treats you conjure up."

"Gracias, Don Alejandro," Eva blushed, "you are much to kind."

Garcia frowned. She never blushed around him. He let out a deep breath and shook his head, rolling his eyes as the two continued to make small talk. Diego stepped closer and gave him a pat on the back and a reassuring smile, and the sergeant was relieved to have at least one person on his side.

When Alejandro decided they should all have breakfast together at the posada, Garcia inwardly hoped Eva's fiery temper would reappear and she would decline the invitation. Instead, they were walking the short distance from the church to the tavern. A few of the other wealthy landowners joined them, including Don Cornelio Esperon and his daughter Moneta, and Don Marcos Cortazar and his daughter Margarita.

Never did the sergeant feel so out of place. He was like the jester in a court of kings. His spirits perked up when Eva slipped her arm in his, allowing him to be her escort. She leaned in closer and whispered with amusement, "So, you do not attend church every Sunday?"

"It's not that I don't want to, it's just that…" Garcia started, not sure how to explain it.

"I am just teasing you, Sergeant," she grinned, cutting him off. "You are a good man, and God knows that. He understands the duties of a soldier are not always easy."

Her words cut into his soul in a way he didn't realize was possible. How did she know exactly what to say to make him feel just a little bit better? Garcia choked back tears and only nodded in appreciation to Eva, not trusting his voice to work properly. He silently prayed that she was right.

* * *

When breakfast was over, goodbyes exchanged and the dons headed back to their horses and carriages, Garcia escorted Eva to her home. The sergeant had to admit he had an enjoyable morning. There was a festive mood inside the posada and he fit right in with the laughter and jokes, instead of being the subject of them. For once, it felt like he belonged; that he was worthy of being included.

"What are you thinking about, Sergeant?" Eva inquired as they walked along.

"Oh, nothing," Garcia responded, but upon seeing her inquisitive gaze felt compelled to continue. "I was just thinking what a nice morning it has been and how much I enjoyed breakfast with the dons."

"The dons?" she asked curiously.

"I also meant the señoritas," Garcia added. "And you, too," he blurted out, feeling stupid for once again stumbling over his words.

"That is not what I meant," she replied with a soft smile. Eva stopped walking and Garcia turned to face her. "I've noticed that you always call them the dons. Why do you not call them your friends?"

"Because they are not exactly my friends," Garcia started, "Well, Don Diego is, but not the others."

"It did not seem that way to me," she prodded. "Everyone in that room likes you."

"It's not that I don't think they like me, it's that… I am just a sergeant," he tried explaining. "I am not one of them, and I never will be."

"That is nonsense," Eva refuted, stepping into the shade of a nearby building. "I am not a young, naïve señorita who is blinded by love and gallantry. I am old enough see past the shallowness of those traits, to know what qualities are truly important. Those dons are good men, and you are every bit as good a man as they are, perhaps even more so."

Garcia shifted uncomfortably, not quite sure how to respond.

"You don't believe me, do you?" she questioned softly. "I suppose I will have to convince you. Let's look at Don Diego. You called him your friend earlier."

"Sí," Garcia answered, more at ease with the change in topic. "He is my friend, probably my best friend."

"Have you ever wondered why he is your friend?"

The sergeant furrowed his brow. "I am not quite sure I understand."

"Don Diego is very kind and gentle," Eva observed. "He is also a very intelligent man."

"Sí," Garcia interrupted with enthusiasm. "He even went to the university in Spain. None of the other caballeros from the area have ventured that far. If they went away to school, it was to Mexico City."

"You have just proven my point. For such a worldly and educated young man, who does Don Diego prefer to spend time with?" Eva nudged. "Not with the shallow young caballeros interested only in trivial pursuits, but with the sergeant who cares about the welfare of the citizens of this pueblo, just as he does."

Garcia shook his head. How does he make her understand? "I'm afraid you do not know Don Diego very well. He…he is not like the other men."

Eva raised an eyebrow at this remark. "How is he different?"

"You have noticed he doesn't carry a sword?" Garcia asked. "He does not like confrontation or violence. Don Diego prefers his books and music. The other young dons, even the old ones, they do not understand it. Sometimes they make jokes and disparaging comments about him."

"I suppose this has cost him the hand of many beautiful señoritas," Eva considered.

He nodded his head, thinking back to the conversation he overheard between Diego and his childhood sweetheart, Rosarita Cortez, when she visited her uncle's rancho in Los Angeles. The pretty young lady chided his friend for not being a man of action like Zorro. Then there was the lovely Señorita Anna Maria Verdugo in Monterey. She, too, was smitten with the masked bandit. She even appeared to prefer the attention of the practical joker Don Ricardo del Amo over Diego's kind nature.

"Then they are fools," she stated with confidence.

"I do not disagree, Señora, but the young señoritas…they want a man of action, someone who will defend their honor," Garcia tried explaining. "Not an idle poet who avoids altercations."

"I believe you are underestimating your friend, Sergeant," Eva said, disrupting his thoughts. Garcia gave her a puzzled look, and she continued. "There is a fire in Don Diego, just as there is in his father. I witnessed it in his eyes when he stopped by my bakery and saw the bruise on my face for the first time. He is just better at controlling it than most."

Garcia wanted to laugh. A fire in Diego? It was absurd.

"You even told me that he went to Spain," Eva added. "That can be a dangerous journey, particularly when made alone. That proves he has courage and a sense of adventure."

Maybe it wasn't so absurd after all, Garcia pondered. He recalled having to inform Diego that Jose Varga, the new administrator for Southern California, had plans of seizing the de la Vega hacienda during his stay in Los Angeles. Diego grabbed a sword and vowed to defend his family's home with a tenacity he had never before seen in the young man. He was prepared to die to protect what the de la Vegas worked for. But then just a few minutes later, when Varga arrived, Diego was back to his normal, calm self. It was like his earlier outburst never happened.

There was also the incident with the swordsman who fought for money, Señor Avila. When he could not provoke Diego into fighting, he struck Alejandro. Diego rushed to his father's aid, backhanding Avila and sending him flying across a table. The swordsman used that opportunity to challenge Diego to a duel. The young don would have gone through with it, too, and probably have been killed if the sergeant hadn't intervened. Garcia still felt a little guilty for hitting his friend on the head and leaving him tied up in the woodshed behind the de la Vega stables, but at least his friend was still alive.

The sergeant crinkled his forehead. These actions were much more like the little boy who was always looking for an adventure in the pueblo than the bookish scholar who returned from Spain. Alejandro was always beaming with pride at his son's antics, even if they weren't always the most appropriate escapades for a son of a wealthy and respected hacendado to be involved in. With all of Monastario's tyranny keeping him busy, Garcia never gave much thought to the change of demeanor in the young Diego de la Vega. But now…

"I think I made my point," Eva spoke, breaking Garcia's concentration. "Don Diego is a good man, who enjoys the company of a soldier because he is also a good man, someone he considers an equal."

She slipped her arm in his again and they continued walking to the bakery. Garcia relished her close proximity and the occasional whiff of sweet spices that clung to her like perfume, but he still couldn't shake thoughts of Don Diego from his mind.

"No!" Eva cried.

Garcia halted, startled by her shout. His head shot in her direction. Before he could ask what was wrong, she picked up the front of her dress and began running. Eyes following her, the sergeant looked in shock at the sight in front of him. He quickly followed Eva, pushing past the lancers that stood outside.

The windows of the bakery lay shattered about; the front door busted off the hinges. Garcia followed her inside, trying to stop her in case someone was still lurking in the interior. The cabinet doors were ripped from their hinges and the drawers were pulled from the tracks. Pots and pans were strewn all over, the dishes broken in shards. The bags of flour, sugar and spices were slashed open, the contents spilling onto the shelves of the pantry and to the floor.

"Wait," Garcia called to Eva as she raced up the stairs. When he caught up to her, she was on her knees, head buried in her hands and crying. Her shoulders shook with sobs. The living quarters had been ransacked just as the lower level was. Clothes were tossed across the room; the small bureau and wardrobe overturned; the mattress pulled off the bed frame. At a complete loss for words, the sergeant knelt down and placed a hand gently on her arm. She didn't flinch this time.

* * *

"The benefit for the mission school is a wonderful idea," Alejandro expressed. "I am sure the others would be thrilled to participate in the games and races." Diego nodded his agreement.

"I am glad to hear that," Padre Felipe smiled. "I knew I could count on you and Diego for support. You both have always been so generous to the church."

The de la Vegas bid the padre adiós and went to their horses. "I wonder where Bernardo has disappeared to," Diego commented to his father. "His horse is still here, but I haven't seen him all morning."

As if on cue, Bernardo appeared from behind the building looking relieved to have found them. "There you are," Diego remarked with an amused grin. "You are staying out of trouble, I hope."

The mute began frantically waving his hands. "Slow down, Bernardo, I can't understand you," Diego said, becoming more serious. The manservant moved his hands and arms in a rounded motion over his chest, indicating a big stomach. "Sergeant Garcia?" Diego asked.

The mute smiled and nodded his head 'yes.' He then made the shape of an hourglass in the air with his hands. "Ahh, Señora del Lugo," Diego added with a smile.

"What about them?" Alejandro interjected.

Bernardo began making a flurry of motions, finally giving up and mounting his horse. He waved for the two dons to follow. "Let's see what's so important," Diego said to his father.

The three men rode down the street, stopping when they came upon the commotion at the bakery. Diego dismounted his Palomino, swiftly crossing the short distance to Corporal Reyes. "What happened here?" he asked, surveying the damage to the building.

"Some of the merchants who live above their shops came to the cuartel after the church services to report someone had vandalized the señora's bakery," Reyes replied. "The lancers and I came to investigate."

"Where is Sergeant Garcia?" Diego inquired.

"He's inside," Reyes tilted his head, "with Señora del Lugo."

Diego entered the ransacked shop. Stepping around the pots and broken dishes on the floor, he carefully examined the debris in hopes of discovering a clue that would help him find the perpetrators. When he didn't find Garcia and Eva on the first floor, he headed upstairs.

The young don stopped, surprised by the sight ahead. The sergeant cradled the señora in his arms, allowing her to cry on his shoulder. Hearing footsteps behind him, Diego turned and saw his father approaching. Garcia turned his head at the sound, met Diego's eyes, whispered something to Eva and stood up. The three men returned to the first level.

"Is Doña Eva alright?" Diego questioned, placing a reassuring hand on the sergeant's shoulder.

"She is unharmed," Garcia responded with a sigh. "I was accompanying her back home after breakfast and this is what we found," he waved a hand indicating the mess surrounding them. "I do not know what she will do. All of Doña Eva's money was put into this shop."

"We will help her," Alejandro declared. "No one in the pueblo will stand idly by while such an outrageous act of hostility has been carried out against one of our own."

"Gracias, Don Alejandro," spoke a soft voice behind them. Diego pivoted around, startled that he didn't hear her approach. Eva's eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks stained with tears, but her voice was unexpectedly calm. "It is a kind offer, but I cannot accept."

"That is a bunch of drivel," Alejandro refuted. "I will ride to our hacienda and get Benito and some of the vaqueros to help clean up this mess and make repairs. Cresencia, our head housekeeper, will be glad to help you upstairs. In fact, she will probably take charge and have this place spotless in no time."

"Please, do not go to the trouble," Eva pleaded. "Even if I can get my shop cleaned up and repaired, I cannot afford to purchase more supplies."

"Then I will purchase them for you," Alejandro stated.

"You are being very generous Don Alejandro, but I refuse to be a burden," Eva continued to argue, her voice strengthening. "I will not accept your money."

"If you will not take it as a gift, then you can consider it a loan," Alejandro countered, his voice also becoming more forceful. "The matter is settled. Diego, please join me outside for a moment." With that, the older don turned and left, not giving the señora any more opportunities to decline his help.

"That was quite a show you put on," Diego quipped once they were near the horses and out of the soldiers' earshot. "Did you see the look on poor Sergeant Garcia's face? He looked like a mouse trapped between two cats."

"Never mind that, Diego," Alejandro lowered his voice. "I am convinced this was not a random act of vandalism. Did you see the way everything was destroyed?"

"Yes," he nodded his head, "whoever ransacked the bakery was looking for something specific."

"Exactly. This has to be connected to the earlier attack on Doña Eva," Alejandro concluded.

"I agree, Father." With his voice softening, he added, "Did you notice the thin cut healing along her jaw?" Diego traced his finger along own jaw for emphasis. Alejandro nodded. "That was the result of her encounter with the assailant in the tavern. He also struck her, but the bruise on her cheek has healed enough that her facial powder covers it. You could see the faint remnants of it after she cried."

"It is deplorable, Diego." Alejandro hissed. "I will not stand around and allow these attacks on Spanish womanhood. These men must be found and brought to justice."

"There is nothing we can do about it right now," Diego said, trying to calm his father's temper.

"You are right, my son," Alejandro grudgingly accepted. "Stay here while I ride to the hacienda and get some volunteers to help with the clean up. Doña Eva seems comfortable around you; see if you can learn anything that will help to capture these men."

"I will, Father," Diego responded, "but take Bernardo with you." Before the older de la Vega could argue, he added, "It will make me feel better."

Alejandro smiled in understanding, patted his son on the arm and mounted his horse. He waved to Diego and rode off to the hacienda with Bernardo close behind. The young don saluted and turned his attention to the bakery. Sergeant Garcia exited the structure and approached his friend.

"Ah, so Don Alejandro has left," Garcia sighed. "I do not think the señora is too happy with him. It took all I had to keep her from following him out here and giving him a piece of her mind."

"He means well," Diego said with a soft smile. "You know how he can come off a bit strong at times."

Garcia leaned in closer. "Do you want to hear something funny?" He lowered his voice. "Between you and me, the señora has a bit of a temper. Just the other day, I was wondering who would win a quarrel between Doña Eva and Don Alejandro. I never thought I would have to witness it though."

"I think it would be best if we keep this tidbit just between us," Diego laughed, clasping the sergeant on the shoulder. They began walking to the bakery. "By the way, the only person I ever saw my father lose an argument to was my mother."

Garcia's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

Diego nodded, a sly grin forming on his lips. "She had a way with him."

* * *

Eva descended the stairs with Cresencia following close behind. "Thank you for everything," the señora said softly, reaching out and placing a friendly hand on the housekeeper's arm. "My quarters would still be in shambles without your help."

"You are welcome, Señora," Cresencia replied. "It was my pleasure."

"It seems she has worked her magic again," Diego said approaching the two women with Sergeant Garcia at his side. "We de la Vega men would never survive without Cresencia running the hacienda." He gave the housekeeper a warm smile.

"I can see why," Eva added readily.

Garcia cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the group. "Are you really going to stay here tonight?" he asked in an apprehensive tone.

"Certainly," she vowed.

"Doña Eva, you do not have to remain here," Diego urged, his expression turning serious. "You are more than welcome at our hacienda. After what has happened, it would be much safer."

"Sí, there is a wonderful guest room," Cresencia chimed in, exchanging a knowing look with the young don. "All the amenities you could possibly need would be at your disposal."

"I don't doubt it," Eva responded. "You all have been so supportive today, and I am truly grateful for everything, but this is my home. I will not be scared away or forced out."

"Well, we tried, Cresencia. I suppose that is all we can do," Diego chuckled. "Would you please check on Benito and the others and see how they are coming along? It's nearing sundown, so we should be returning to the hacienda soon."

The housekeeper nodded and went in search of the vaqueros outside.

Diego's light mood turned somber. "May I be frank with you, Doña Eva?"

"Of course, Don Diego," Eva replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Whoever did this damage to your bakery was very methodical. Every cabinet and drawer has been searched; every container has been slashed or broken. Even the smallest spice jar was shattered," Diego rationalized. "This was not a random act of vandalism. They were looking for something specific."

Feeling the sergeant's eyes on him, Diego crooked his head and was surprised by the soldier's inquisitive gaze. He couldn't place his finger on it, but an odd element in the expression on Garcia's face made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The young don tried shaking the feeling away.

Eva sat on a nearby chair. "I have always been the subject of gossip. First in San Rafael and now here in Los Angeles," she said sadly. She looked up at Diego. "Both you and your father must be aware that my husband died leaving me deep in debt. I had to sell just about all of our possessions to settle what he owed. What little I had left just barely covered the cost of purchasing this store and the supplies to get started. The only things I kept were some of my clothes and a few personal mementos, of which have no monetary worth. They have only sentimental value."

Diego shifted uncomfortably, hating that he had to probe her about this topic. He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms over his chest. "Is it possible that one of these keepsakes could hold personal significance to someone else? A coin or a trinket Don Javier stumbled across?"

"Do you mean to ask if Javier won a prized possession in one of his wagers?" Eva asked simply, no trace of anger or resentment in her tone.

Diego shifted his weight against the counter and tugged at his ear. "I did not mean to…"

"It is all right," she waved him off. "It is no secret that my husband breathed to gamble, but rarely was he triumphant. Even if Javier did win something of value, it would not be long before he lost it again. Lady Luck was not on his side." Eva turned her eyes downward. "Whatever the intruder wanted, I do not know what it was."

She was lying. The sudden break in eye contact told Diego she knew more than she was letting on. He was about to question her further when Sergeant Garcia interrupted.

"Don Diego, please," he urged.

The young don sighed. "I am sorry, Doña Eva. I did not mean to broach such a sensitive subject."

"I do not mind," she looked up at him again, a small smile forming on her lips. "I know you are concerned and are trying to help. Believe me, I do appreciate it."

Diego nodded, returning the smile. "I should be leaving, con permiso."

Garcia took this opportunity to assert himself. "As the acting Commandante of the Pueblo de Los Angeles, it is my duty to protect the citizens. I will station the lancers outside of the bakery to ensure your safety, Doña Eva." His firm voice turned cautious when met Eva's gaze. "Please?"

Diego covered his mouth with his hand, struggling to stifle a laugh. He exited the building and found Benito and Cresencia outside. "You both have done wonderful work today," he complimented.

"Gracias, Patrón," Benito replied. "Señor Flores opened up his shop this afternoon and cut the glass for the windows. He deserves as much thanks as we do."

"I will come back tomorrow and help the señora finish cleaning up the downstairs," Cresencia added.

"Gracias," Diego responded. "Why don't you round up everyone and head back to the hacienda. I will follow behind shortly." He watched the group gather their supplies and disappear around the corner on the way back to the rancho. Hearing the sergeant approaching behind, he turned. "Did Doña Eva agree to the lancers?"

"Sí, Don Diego," Garcia answered. "In fact, I was surprised she didn't put up a fuss."

"I think she is more scared than she lets on," Diego noted.

Garcia shrugged his agreement. "About what you said earlier, the intruder searching for something specific. How do you know this?"

That niggling feeling was back. "It was a deduction," Diego stated with more confidence than he felt. "We know that the señora was attacked before." Garcia nodded at this. "Remember when some of the boys broke the windows of the general store a few months ago?"

"Sí, they did it to steal some candy," Garcia interrupted.

"That is more the act of vandalism. Breaking some windows or stealing some inexpensive merchandise," Diego reasoned. "But nothing appears to be stolen from Doña Eva, and the way everything was damaged tells us it was not the act of some unruly boys or a bandit. When you add that to the previous attack, we can deduce that someone is after her."

"That makes sense," Garcia sighed, apparently accepting the explanation, "but I still do not like it."

"Nor do I, Sergeant," Diego agreed, relieved when the sergeant's suspicious inquiry was deflected. The niggling feeling was starting to diminish. Feeling his usual composure return, he added with a smile, "You will just have to keep watch on her."

* * *

The golden flames of the fire cast flickering shadows in the darkness surrounding the camp. Silvio Salazar stabbed at the coals with a long stick. "Are you sure it was safe to return here?"

"I would not have come back if it wasn't," Roland replied crossly. "The soldiers searched this area two nights ago. They will not be back for a while." He took the saddle blanket from his horse and propped it up alongside a boulder. He sat down and leaned against it. "And stop playing with that fire. We need to keep the flames low to avoid drawing attention to ourselves."

"I need to get it hotter so I can heat my frijoles," Silvio challenged.

"Just set the pan in there, you idiot," Roland ordered. "They will get warm."

Silvio threw the stick down and thrust the pan of beans on the fire. He slumped down to the ground and studied the flames, occasionally sticking a spoon into the pot testing to see if his meal was satisfactorily heated. "What do we do now?"

"Is that the only thing you can think to ask? _What do we do now_?" Roland mocked.

"What do you want me to say? We tore that bakery apart. The del Lugo woman doesn't have the map," Silvio moaned. "We are back where we started from."

"I'm not so sure about that," Roland said, raising his hand to his chin in concentration.

"And you call me an idiot?" Silvio quipped. "If she has it, then where is it?" A sudden glint of light on metal caught his eye and he stumbled back when a knife landed between his legs.

Roland stood, walked over to the other man, pulled his dagger from the dirt and returned to his seat. "Never call me an idiot again, brother," he hissed, rolling the hilt of the blade in his hand. He finally sheathed the weapon and adjusted the blanket behind him.

Silvio's eyes remained wide, the shadows of the fire enhancing the effect, and his mouth hung open as if he wanted to speak. Roland laughed, "Shut your trap, you will let the flies in." Silvio closed his mouth and returned to tending his frijoles, aiming narrowed eyes at his brother.

"I still believe Eva del Lugo has the map," Roland finally elucidated. "There are dozens of places it could be hidden. We didn't have the time to pry up the floorboards or check every stone on the fireplace. She might even carry it with her."

"What if Don Javier stashed the map in a vase or behind a painting or something. She might have unwittingly sold it," Silvio contemplated. "It could be anywhere."

"That's true," Roland observed, "but she was married to him for over twenty years. Women are nosy by nature and becoming a wife multiplies the damn trait tenfold. The señora would know where he hid his valuables and it would stand to reason she would check such spots prior to selling any objects. This is why I am convinced the she is still in possession of it."

Silvio shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but his brother cut him off.

"Don't say it."

"What?" Silvio questioned, looking like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"It's time to force her hand," Roland declared.

"I don't like it," Silvio opposed. "I know your methods too well. If she does have it, you're liable to destroy the map in the process and then we will never find treasure. Even you can't put ashes back together."

A fiendish grin formed on Roland's lips. "We'll find out once and for all whether she has it or not."


	5. Chapter IV

**The Curse of the Santa Quintero**

**Chapter IV**

The bright morning sun shone down on the de la Vega hacienda as Diego descended the steps. He spotted his father sitting at the small table on the patio finishing the remnants of a late breakfast, Maria clearing away the last of the dishes. "Buenos días, Father," he greeted.

"Buenos días, my son," Alejandro smiled. "You are up rather early."

"I finished my book at a decent hour," Diego replied, sitting in the chair opposite the older de la Vega. He nodded politely to Maria when she offered him breakfast, but declined, telling her he would eat in a little bit. She shook her head in dismay, disappeared into the hacienda and returned with some muffins, a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice and another glass.

"She and Cresencia have never fussed over me like they do you," Alejandro sighed. "I would not be surprised if they threw me to the wolves for you."

"Oh, it's not that bad, Father," Diego laughed, taking a sip from his glass. "They think I am too thin and don't eat enough. With all of the lazy days I spend around here and in the tavern with Sergeant Garcia, I probably should be a little heavier than I am."

"Do not speak so fast, my son," Alejandro grinned. "With all of the time you are spending at the bakery lately, you might just start getting a little thicker around the waist."

Diego raised his eyebrow.

"Well, considering everything you have purchased, very little of it makes it home."

"All right," Diego conceded, raising his hands in defeat, "you have made your point. Doña Eva has a remarkable talent in the kitchen. But in my defense, Bernardo has eaten far more than me."

Alejandro chuckled. "Speaking of Bernardo, has he noticed anyone suspicious in the pueblo?"

"No," Diego answered. "He will remain in the plaza and keep his eyes open, but our best hope is that they'll slip up and draw attention to themselves."

Alejandro glanced around to make sure they were alone on the patio and no one was listening in. "Did Zorro have any luck last night?" he asked in a lower voice.

"I'm afraid not," Diego responded taking another sip from his glass.

Alejandro's shoulders slumped. "I do not understand it. Zorro has succeeded against such remarkable odds. Why is it so difficult for him to track down a couple of men in the hills?"

"They currently have the upper hand," Diego said, setting the glass down and leaning back in the chair. He folded his arms over his chest. "To start with, the time of year works to their advantage. With the summer harvest ready and the autumn crops to be sowed, there are just too many new faces in town to keep track of them all."

"Not to mention the vineyards will be ripe in two weeks and it will be time to pick the grapes, so there will continue to be an influx of people looking for extra work," Alejandro added, picking the napkin off his lap and throwing it on the table. "And with the annual cattle auction in San Diego in eight weeks, there are a lot of landowners traveling, hoping to make deals before the animals go to the auction block."

"Exactly," Diego agreed. "These men also know the lancers are scouring the hills for them. To keep one step ahead, they have to continue moving, which means they don't have a permanent camp. There is simply too much land and not enough hours in the night for Zorro to cover all the terrain."

Alejandro sighed. "There are no tracks to follow?"

"The soldiers mean well, but they don't have that kind of training. Being out in force like this, they end up destroying any traces Zorro could use." Diego raised his hand to his chin, running a finger over his moustache. "It's also possible Doña Eva's attackers left the area when they didn't find what they were searching for."

"You don't believe that any more than I do," Alejandro stated.

"No," Diego tilted his head, "but when it comes right down to it, we don't know who they are, what they look like, or even what they are after. We have nothing to use as leverage to draw them out."

"This is unacceptable," Alejandro huffed. He turned narrowed eyes to his son. "A few days ago, when you returned home after Doña Eva's bakery was ransacked, you mentioned she might know more that she lets on."

"Sí," Diego replied. "In the time I have spent with her, I've noticed she never shies away from making eye contact. Even when I brought up the subject of Don Javier and his gambling, she was forthright. In fact, I was more uncomfortable than she was," he smiled wryly. "But when Doña Eva stated she didn't know what they were after, she broke eye contact and looked down."

"Why did you not press her on the matter, Diego?" Alejandro urged. "I do not wish to breach social etiquette, but this may mean her life."

"Sergeant Garcia was there," Diego explained, "and I was already pushing propriety boundaries. It didn't seem wise to continue the line of questioning."

"We cannot let it drop," Alejandro asserted.

"I agree, Father. That's why I think we should take a new approach." Diego grinned when his father raised a questioning eyebrow. "Zorro is going to pay Señora del Lugo a visit tonight."

"What about all of the lancers stationed outside her bakery?"

"That shouldn't be a problem," Diego answered while picking up a muffin. "After all, the soldiers have never hindered Zorro visiting the cuartel."

"Do you think she will open up to him?" Alejandro asked.

"I think she will," Diego replied with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, "especially if Sergeant Garcia is there to encourage her." He took bite of the muffin.

Alejandro just shook his head. "I hope you know what you are doing, my son. After all, the sergeant has his eyes set on that two thousand peso reward." He smiled, "And if he happens to be successful one day, I don't know anything about your nightly activities."

* * *

The wonderful aromas of fresh baked bread lured Sergeant Garcia to the bakery like a curled finger beckoning him forth. The scent was so delicious he could almost close his eyes and let his nose lead him along the streets. He stepped through the entryway, but instead of finding Eva, he ran into Bernardo.

"Oh, hello, little one," he greeted waving his fingers. "Where is your master?" The quiet one waved back and smiled at the soldier, so Garcia looked around for Diego.

Eva appeared from the back. "Good morning, Sergeant."

Garcia spun around. "Good morning, Doña Eva," he returned. "Is Don Diego here?"

"No," she replied, picking up a platter of cookies off the counter. "Bernardo is here alone today. I think Don Diego sent him here to keep an eye on me," she winked, offering the sergeant some of the cookies. "To tell you the truth, I enjoy having him around. He is good company."

"I do not understand," Garcia said, taking one of the tasty treats. He bit half of it off and savored the small pieces of chocolate melting on his tongue. "Bernardo is very nice, but how can he be good company when he can not talk or hear?" He plopped the remaining half in his mouth.

"He is very perceptive," Eva smiled while offering the deaf-mute a cookie. "It's as if he can read my thoughts. He also has some hidden talents," she added playfully. "When he was helping me in the kitchen earlier, he showed considerable skill. I think I could make a very good baker out of him."

"Ah, but you would never be able to steal him away from Don Diego," Garcia laughed.

"Probably not," Eva grinned, "but if my business continues to prosper like it has this week, I might be able to hire him away. The innkeeper has decided to order all of the tavern's bread from me, instead of baking it in house. With such a larger order every day, I may have to hire someone to help me."

"That is good news," Garcia beamed.

"Sí, I am happy that everyone enjoys my baking," she paused, her features turning sad. "I just wish they weren't purchasing out of pity."

"It is not pity, Señora," Garcia refuted. "Some of the people might buy from you as a way to show the scoundrels they didn't win, but most keep coming back because they love your treats. Your cooking is the best in all of California," he announced, and patting his belly added, "And I know my food."

"Gracias, Sergeant, you always know what to say to make me feel better," she smiled, setting the tray back on the counter. "Now, if only I knew how to thank Don Alejandro. Without his help, I would never have been able to get back on my feet. I've noticed he has not ridden into town since Sunday."

"Well, he is very busy with his rancho this time of year…" Garcia trailed off.

"And he does not want to keep arguing with me," Eva continued lightheartedly.

Garcia's eyes widened. "I did not say that," he exclaimed, unable to hide the momentary panic in his voice, his heart pounding with anxiety.

"Calm down, Sergeant," she said, reaching out to touch his forearm. "I was only teasing."

Garcia let out a sigh of relief, but his heart continued to flutter at her gesture. When it finally calmed down, he noticed she turned hesitant, and in the time he had known her, the señora only showed such uncertainty when she wanted to ask him a question. "Is there something you would like to ask me?" he prodded when she remained silent.

"Sí, there is," Eva began cautiously, biting her lower lip. "I know this is rather forward, but would you like to have supper with me this evening?"

"I would like that very much," Garcia beamed, but his shoulders slumped when he realized he didn't have any money left. "But I…well, um…"

"Good," she nodded, her expression brightening. "I have a recipe I have been eager for you to try."

"A recipe?" he repeated in confusion. "Do you mean you are going to cook supper for me? Here?"

"I was planning on eating, too," Eva grinned with sparks of mirth in her eyes, "and I do not see the need to borrow a kitchen when I have a perfectly good one right behind me." She tilted her head toward the back of the bakery to emphasize her point.

"That is not what I mean," Garcia tried explaining while lowering his head, hating that he was stumbling over his words again. "I know you will also eat and you will use your own kitchen, but you make it sound like it will just be the two of us all alone."

"It will," she clarified.

The sergeant's head shot up, "but that is not proper, is it?"

"What is not proper about two friends having dinner together?" Eva inquired innocently.

Sergeant Garcia's heart skipped another beat and his knees wobbled beneath him. She called him her friend. "Well, when you put it that way," he reasoned, a smile spreading from ear to ear, "it would be rude of me to decline. I would be honored to have supper with you."

"You have interesting logic, Sergeant," Eva replied, shaking her head in amusement, "and I like it. I will see you this evening about an hour after I close my shop?"

"Sí, I will be here." Garcia bowed his head in her direction as he walked backwards towards the door, bumping into the wall along the way. He pursed his lips together sheepishly, waved to Bernardo, turned and exited the store. The sergeant returned to the cuartel with an extra bounce in his step.

* * *

Diego entered the acting commandante's office with Bernardo tailing behind. The sight that greeted him caused the young don to bite his tongue to muffle a laugh. Corporal Reyes stood in the corner ironing the sergeant's uniform jacket. Garcia sat at the desk holding a mirror in one hand and a pair of small scissors in the other carefully trimming his moustache. His hair was neatly combed back and his cheeks, chin and neck were freshly shaved.

"What is all this?" Diego inquired.

"Oh, hello, Don Diego," Garcia welcomed them, "and to you again, little one." He set the items in his hands down and waved to the mute. "I am just preparing for this evening." The sergeant stood and motioned for the young don to have a seat and sat back down in his own chair.

"What is so special about this evening?" Diego asked, intrigued by the soldier's sudden interest in his appearance. He snuck a look at Bernardo and raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'Maybe you were right.'

"I have a dinner engagement," Garcia said proudly.

Corporal Reyes set the iron down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the ironing board. "You know, Sergeant, with your hair combed like that, you look just like my cousin in Culiacán," he observed.

"Really?" Garcia questioned. "I did not know you had a cousin living in Mexico."

"Sí, he is the funniest looking man in the city," Reyes explained. "Wherever he goes, people laugh."

"Go back to ironing, Corporal."

Reyes shrugged his shoulders, straightened his form and went back to the task at hand.

"Well, I think you look rather dapper," Diego complimented the sergeant.

"Gracias, Don Diego, gracias," Garcia nodded. "I am having supper with Doña Eva this evening. She is going to cook supper for both of us."

Diego stole another look at Bernardo who had a smug look of satisfaction on his face. "Hmm…Does this mean you are now courting Señora del Lugo?" he asked with sincere interest.

"Oh, it is nothing like that," Garcia clarified. "We are just friends."

"I wish I had friends like that," Reyes butted in.

"Shut up, Private," Garcia ordered.

"No, Sergeant, it's Corporal," Reyes corrected.

"It's Private unless you shut up and finish that ironing," Garcia commanded.

Reyes narrowed his eyes and muttered something unintelligible before going back to his assignment.

Diego covered his mouth with his hand to hide the smile on his face, trying valiantly to suppress the laugh that fought to escape his lips. When the sergeant turned his attention back to the young don, Diego quickly lowered his hand and steadied his features. "It's kind of a shame, Sergeant. I think you two would make a very nice couple."

"You do?" Garcia asked eagerly leaning forward.

"Of course," Diego replied. "I would not have said it if I didn't mean it."

"Me and Doña Eva," Garcia pondered out loud, leaning back into his chair. He sighed. "Oh, but it is a silly idea. What would she ever see in a fat sergeant like me?"

"That's what all of us lancers have been wondering," Reyes muttered.

"Private!" Garcia warned.

"I know, I know," Reyes replied. "Go back to ironing." He picked up the metal tool and pressed the soleplate into the blue and red fabric.

"I think you are underestimating the señora," Diego added softly. "If I may be candid, it's obvious you are smitten with her and I believe she shares similar feelings toward you."

The blush that colored the sergeant's cheeks faded quickly, replaced with an expression of pure joy that Diego rarely saw on a grown man. Garcia leaned forward. "Do you really think Doña Eva likes me?"

"I do," the young don answered honestly. "Who did she allow to help her with her bakery? Who has she been spending most of her time with since arriving in Los Angeles? Who is she having an intimate supper with tonight? The answer to all of these questions is you, Sergeant."

Garcia's eyes widened with sudden realization. "That is true."

"You are a good man, Sergeant, with a good heart," Diego advised. "Any woman would be lucky to have you. Don't ever forget that."

Garcia's forehead crinkled. "Doña Eva said something very similar to me on Sunday."

"She is right," Diego affirmed. "It's best to listen to her."

"Gracias, Don Diego," the sergeant voiced with gratitude. "You are a good friend."

Diego smiled and nodded to Garcia. "I must be going now." He stood and moved toward the door.

Garcia followed him. "I forgot to ask if there is something you needed to see me about," he mentioned abruptly, seemingly just now wondering about the purpose of the young don's visit to his office.

"I rode into town to fetch Bernardo," Diego explained. "I thought I would stop by and see if you would like to join me in the tavern this evening, but you have more enjoyable plans." He patted the sergeant on the shoulder and bid him goodbye. Once out the door, he stuck his head back in. "Sergeant, just to let you know, women love flowers."

Garcia's featured brightened as if he just came upon a brilliant idea. "Gracias, Don Diego."

When the young don and manservant were outside the gates of the cuartel and free of prying eyes and ears, Diego turned to Bernardo. "I'm sorry that I doubted you, Bernardo."

The mute placed his hands on his hips and grinned, looking very pleased at the apology.

"But who would have ever thought that Sergeant Garcia would be going on a…date." Diego exchanged an amused glance with Bernardo. "I almost feel guilty about Zorro interrupting it."

* * *

The bakery loomed in the distance and Garcia stopped. He took a deep breath and wiped his sweaty palm on his trousers. Swapping the item he held from one hand to the other, he attempted to dry the other palm on his trousers as well. Taking another deep breath to steel his nerves, he walked the remaining distance to Doña Eva's store.

"You may go back to the cuartel, Private Ortega," Garcia instructed. "Go around back and let Private Hernandez know he is relieved as well. I will take over for now. Send Privates Reyes and Sanchez back in a little while for guard duty."

Ortega nodded his understanding and disappeared behind the back of the building.

Garcia lifted his hand to knock on the door, but it opened before his knuckles made contact and Doña Eva appeared before him. "I thought I heard your voice," she said cheerfully. "Please come in."

The sergeant entered, admiring the señora's beauty. She was wearing the same green dress from the day he first met her. She was absolutely stunning in green. Eva's presence commanded his attention, almost to the point where he barely registered the mouth watering aromas surrounding him.

"You look very handsome tonight, Sergeant," she complimented.

"So do you," he replied. "I mean…you look very pretty." He silently cursed his ability to fumble words. "Oh, these are for you," he thrust the flowers in his hand forward, causing Eva to step back.

"Gracias, I will put them in some water," she said taking the flowers from Garcia. Eva motioned for him to follow her. Once in the kitchen, she pulled a glass from a cabinet and filled it with water from a barrel in the corner. She put the flowers in and set them on the makeshift table. "I hope you don't mind eating in here, I do not have a formal dining area."

"I do not mind," Garcia noted. "It is much nicer than eating in the barracks." Eva had draped a tablecloth over the workstation in the middle of the kitchen and pulled two chairs up to it. The table was set with napkins, silverware, plates and glasses. The sergeant's eyes fell on the two candles burning and his thoughts drifted back to Diego's earlier words: _An intimate supper_. Fear immediately consumed him and he began coughing, nearly choking on his own tongue.

"Are you okay, Sergeant?" Eva asked with concern, patting the soldier on the back.

He looked at her with a panicked expression before regaining some level of composure. "I…I am fine," he managed to spit out hoarsely. "I just got something caught in my throat."

This excuse seemed to satisfy her and Eva returned to check the pot on the stove. She picked up a nearby bottle of wine and brought it over to Garcia. "Would you mind doing the honors?"

"No, not at all," he muttered, taking the bottle and removing the cork. He poured the red liquid into the two glasses on the table, hoping she didn't notice the sweat forming on his brow. When Eva had her back to him, he quickly wiped his sleeve over his forehead.

Her attention returned to the soldier and she picked up her glass and held in it in the air, so Garcia followed suit. "To friends," she toasted and their glasses clinked. Eva sipped some of the wine and the sergeant did his best not to guzzle the liquid while silently wishing he could drink the whole bottle. He knew he was in way over his head.

"Our supper needs to simmer for just a little longer, but I have some bread for us," she said, heading over to the oven and pulling out a loaf. She set it on a wooden tray along with a knife and carried it over to the table. "Would you like to cut it?" she asked, gesturing to the knife.

"No," he answered. "I mean, you are better than it than me. You should do it since you are the expert in the kitchen." Garcia was afraid that she would see his trembling hands.

"All right," she responded with a smile, apparently happy with his explanation. Eva sliced the loaf and handed the sergeant a piece.

Garcia took a nervous bite. The smooth, almost velvety, texture of the bread washed away his nervousness. "This is heavenly," he whispered. "I have never had bread this good."

"It is an Italian recipe," Eva described. "They use splendid oils made from olives and mix it in with the dough and brush the bread with it before it's cooked. It makes the crust crispy and seals in the moisture of the bread. I was fortunate that one of the local merchants had recently purchased some bottles from a trade ship."

"You are amazing, Doña Eva."

"Gracias, Sergeant, you are too kind." She blushed, causing Garcia's heart to flutter. "And please, just call me Eva. I am no doña."

"I do not understand," Garcia's stated confused. "You were married to Don Javier, therefore you are a doña. Being a widow and running a bakery does not change that."

Eva sat down and a reflective smile formed on her lips. "I have never really been a doña. My father was a merchant in Bilbao. When my mother died giving birth to my sister, it was our housekeeper and cook, Luisa, who raised us. I suppose that is why I enjoy baking and feel so comfortable in the kitchen."

"She is the one who taught you about all of the delicious treats you make?"

"Sí," Eva answered clasping her hands in her lap, her eyes lighting up with the memories. "Everyday I would help her prepare the meals. When new ships came to port, Luisa would go to the docks and meet people from all over the world and exchange recipes. I was always so excited when she let me go along. Luisa could even speak several languages. She was an amazing woman."

Garcia sat down in the other chair and his curiosity got the better of him. This was the first time Eva had opened up and spoke about her past. "How did you come to marry Don Javier?"

"When my father later remarried, his new wife put ideas of wealth and power into his mind." Eva's voice turned sour. "She did not approve of our upbringing and convinced my sister that it was not proper to be so friendly with the hired help, but I was always happier spending time with Luisa than my stepmother's acquaintances. My father and that woman," Eva hissed, "arranged for my marriage to Javier. We were married just shy of my sixteenth birthday."

Sergeant Garcia was briefly taken aback by the hatred in Eva's voice for her stepmother. He sat there stunned, not knowing what to say, even though he was also curious about her sentiments towards Don Javier. Before he could gather his courage and ask her more, Eva's face softened.

"Please, Sergeant, call me Eva."

Garcia couldn't say 'no' to her. "Only if you call me Demetrio," he stated daringly.

She smiled and reached out, placing her hand on his. "I would like that very much, Demetrio." Eva pulled her hand back and went over to the stove. "It looks like our supper is ready." She dipped two bowls and brought them over to the table.

Garcia held his nose over the bowl took a deep breath. "It looks and smells delicious. What is it?"

"It's called _Ballymaloe_, or Irish stew," Eva explained sitting down, placing her napkin on her lap. "I modified it a bit from the traditional recipe, but it still has lamb, potatoes, onions and carrots. It's a hearty meal for a hearty man."

He stuck a piece of meat with his fork and placed it in his mouth. His eyes closed as he savored the flavors. "This tastes even more delicious than it looks or smells," Garcia proclaimed and Eva's eyes sparkled with joy. "The meat is so tender." He tried a potato next. "How tasty," he said between mouthfuls. Before the sergeant knew it, the bowl was empty.

"Would you like more, Demetrio?" Eva asked with a very pleased look on her face.

"Sí, gracias," he replied modestly, relishing the sound of his name in her melodic voice. She got up and dipped him a second helping. Garcia thanked her and tried to eat more slowly this time, noticing that his supper companion had only eaten half of her serving so far.

They made small talk as they continued eating and the relaxed atmosphere boosted Garcia's confidence. He swallowed hard before he finally asked the question that perplexed him since their first meeting. "When we first met, you said you weren't sorry that your husband died. Why is this?"

Eva's shoulders visibly stiffened and she became quiet, leading Garcia to believe she wasn't going to answer. He was about to say something else to change the subject when she at last answered in a quiet voice, "My marriage was not a happy one." She picked up their empty bowls and carried them to the wash basin. She stood there for several minutes, leaving Garcia completely baffled. When she returned to the table, she avoided eye contact. "Javier was a…cruel man," she slowly added.

Garcia's eyes narrowed before he finally comprehended her statement. It suddenly made sense why she didn't cry or tremble when the man attacked her at the tavern. She was used to it. But how could a woman get used to something like that? "He struck you?" he blurted out in alarm. "Oh, a thousand pardons, Eva," he apologized. "I did not mean to say that."

"It is all right, Demetrio," she said, meeting his eyes. "It is in the past. Just because my marriage was not a happy one does not mean that I did not have joyous times. I cherished the time with my children. Rafi and Verónica made all of Javier's mood swings worth it."

"You have children?" Garcia inquired with enthusiasm. "Will they be coming to visit you soon?"

"They are with God," Eva said barely above a whisper. She turned her head away from him.

"Ah, they are with the church." Garcia regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. The tear that slipped down her cheek broke his heart. How could he be so stupid? He wanted to kick himself. "I am sorry, Eva, I am as dumb as an ox sometimes…"

She reached out and touched his arm again. "Do not say such things about yourself, Demetrio. I understand that you meant no offense." Eva released her grasp of him and clasped her hands in her lap. "It's just that it has been so long since…since I have talked about them with anyone."

"What happened to them?" Garcia asked hesitantly. "You do not have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I would like for you to know about them," Eva said, her features cheering up. "Rafael was my oldest, born one year after Javier and I married. I always called him Rafi," she smiled. "He was such a smart and adventurous boy growing up, but he was too much like his father…" Her voice trailed off.

"I do not understand, Eva."

"Rafi could not let matters alone," she clarified, eyes turning dark. "One day, just after his eighteenth birthday, he crossed paths with another man who could not let matters drop. They got into an argument and it became a matter of honor to solve their differences by dueling. Rafi was very good with a blade, but the other man was more experienced."

"I am so sorry," Garcia expressed, not knowing what else to say.

"My son died in the street," she spat, "because stupid men have devised a code of honor, when it is really an excuse to kill. How is it noble to take a life? How is it honorable for a mother to bury her child?"

"It is not honorable," Garcia said sadly, unexpectedly gaining a new respect for his friend Diego. She was right; there was no excuse for taking a life to uphold the family name. How many mothers and fathers buried their children when there were other ways of settling a disagreement? Even Diego, who was always so level headed, nearly got killed when Señor Avila challenged him.

Garcia felt Eva's studying gaze upon him. "What are you thinking about?" she asked softly, having regained control of her emotions.

"About how you are correct," he answered, "and how I almost lost a good friend once to a silly duel. More people need to have your common sense."

She nodded in understanding and they sat in silence, both needing the solace of the other's wordless company. It was Sergeant Garcia who finally brought the quiet that enveloped them to an end. "What happened to your daughter?"

Eva bit her lower lip. "Verónica was my baby," there was a trace of melancholy in her tone. "She was two years younger than Rafi. When she was six-years-old, she became ill with a fever and terrible cough. It lasted for months. There were times she could barely breathe, and she had difficulties eating and became so frail…" She choked back tears. "When Verónica died, I was racked with guilt for feeling relieved that she was no longer suffering."

"There is nothing to be guilty about," Garcia affirmed. "No one wants to see their child suffer."

Eva stood and quickly crossed the kitchen. She leaned against the counter, her back to Garcia. He watched her shoulders tremble with silent sobs. Not even thinking twice, he went to her side and gently placed his hand on the small of her back. She turned and buried her head in his chest. The sergeant held her tightly, vowing he would not allow anything else bad to happen to her.

When Eva's shoulders stilled, she pulled back just a little, remaining in Garcia's arms. She looked up into his eyes with tear stained cheeks. He didn't know how it happened; if he leaned down or she stood on her toes, or even who initiated it. He just knew that their lips met in a gentle kiss.

The feeling sent shivers up his spine, his heart fluttering and his knees trembling all at once. It was the most enchanting feeling he has experienced in years. Eva slowly pulled back and Garcia opened his eyes. The look on her face was not one he expected. Fearing he acted inappropriately, he was about to apologize when she asked in alarm, "Do you smell smoke?"

Garcia blinked hard, not quite comprehending her question, but whiffs of something burning assaulted his nostrils. "Sí, is it your stove?"

Eva ran over to check it. "No, most of the wood has burned up and the fire is almost out." She went to inspect the ovens on the opposite wall, but none were the source. The odor was becoming stronger and the air turned hazy.

"It must be from outside," Garcia presumed. As he entered the front of the store, Eva following behind, the window shattered. A flaming glass bottle landed on the floor near the display counter. "We need water!" he shouted, running back to the kitchen. The barrel was too heavy to lift. Eva reached into the cabinets and pulled out large bowls. They filled them and raced to put out the fire.

Dashing back into the kitchen to refill the bowls, they were met with another flaming bottle smashing through the back window. It landed near the pantry, sending the bags of flour and sugar blazing. "We have to get out of here!" Garcia yelled as the fire spread to the cabinets and up the walls.

He grabbed Eva and opened the back door. Large flames jumped forward and he slammed the door shut. They turned and started crossing the kitchen, the air becoming thick with smoke and scorching their throats. "Demetrio," Eva cried in terror. He drew her close as the fire consumed the building around them.


	6. Chapter V

**The Curse of the Santa Quintero**

**Chapter V**

Thick, intense smoke filled the bakery, stinging Sergeant Garcia's eyes and burning his throat. He coughed heavily trying to clear his airways of the retched air, but found no relief. Eva's coughing echoed behind him, cutting through the loud hiss of the fire, and he kept a strong grasp on her arm, fearing he would lose her in the burning building.

Garcia pushed forward, trying to make it to the front entrance. He dragged Eva along with one hand and held the bent elbow of his free arm up to his nose and mouth, trying to shield his lungs from the smoke. A beam from the ceiling came crashing down to their side just missing the couple. Eva screamed. Garcia pulled her closer and pressed on.

Flares of orange and yellow ate away at the walls faster that he could have possibly imagined, but he didn't have time to dwell on that thought. Shouts from outside acted as a beacon, luring him to the front door. Seeing flames dancing in the darkness ahead blocking their exit, he scooped Eva up in his arms. She buried her head in his the crook of his neck, her body trembling with violent coughs. Garcia lunged forward and landed awkwardly on the ground outside, rolling to the side to avoid throwing the brunt of his weight on Eva.

The hem of her dress was on fire and the sergeant struggled to stand to stomp it out. An old man nearby saw them and raced to help put the smoldering fabric out. Garcia managed to examine his own clothes; while lightly singed and covered in soot, they were not burning.

Between hacking coughs, he slowly realized the shouts he heard earlier were from the merchants living nearby. They came out of their stores to see what the commotion was about and to throw water on the flames. Reyes and Sanchez were also on the scene. Cries of fire echoed around them, and Garcia looked up to see the building completely engulfed in a glowing blaze.

For a brief moment, he wondered how they ever made it out alive. One of the shopkeepers approached them with a pitcher of water. "Gracias," the sergeant muttered hoarsely, offering the much needed liquid to Eva first. She drank from the pitcher greedily, finally offering it to Garcia, who gratefully guzzled the remaining contents.

More lancers arrived on the scene and quickly began directing the bystanders into a line from the well to the burning building. Garcia watched in amazement as Reyes took charge and bellowed orders. Buckets were passed from one person to another down the winding link of people to the men who positioned themselves around the store. A loud crash reverberated through the crackling noise of the fire and flames shot into the air. The roof of the building caved in. Those closest to the shop jumped back in fear.

The effort was gallant, but there simply wasn't enough water delivered fast enough to put the blaze out and save the bakery's main structure. Everyone's energy changed focused; they now tried to keep the fire from spreading to nearby buildings.

Garcia's coughing began to subside and his head started to clear. He turned to Eva. She sat with her shoulders slumped forward, staring at the scene ahead. Her features were expressionless; no tears, no sadness, no fear. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

Eva continued to stare at the remnants of her bakery, giving no sign of hearing his words. Garcia tilted his head and repeated his question a little louder. "Are you okay, Eva?"

When she didn't respond, he reached out and gently touched her arm. She turned her head and looked at him, her eyes glazed over as if she didn't see him. "Eva?" he nudged her.

The señora startled and blinked hard, meeting his eyes like she was seeing him for the first time that night. "Sí, I am fine," she answered, her voice parched by the smoke, but otherwise without emotion.

Garcia shook his head. "You do not have to pretend for me, Eva." He glanced down and saw her reddened hand. "You are burned," he exclaimed in shock. "We need a doctor!" he shouted.

"No, Demetrio, please," Eva begged, "I do not need a doctor."

The sergeant ignored her protests and called for medical help again. A few minutes passed and Doctor Avilla arrived on the scene. He knelt down and inspected the burn on Eva's hand. "It's not too serious," he stated while applying a salve to the wound and wrapping her hand in a white bandage.

Eva remained quiet while the doctor tended to her, barely registering his presence. He listened to her breathing and examined her for any more burns. The doctor returned his instruments to his bag.

"Señora del Lugo appears to be in some shock, but otherwise unharmed," Avilla observed. He gave a bottle of the ointment to Garcia. "Do not leave her alone until she becomes more alert. Make sure she smears this on every few hours, replacing the dressing with a fresh bandage at each application."

Garcia nodded his understanding.

"Are you hurt, Sergeant?"

"No, I am okay, Doctor."

"Good. Then I will check on the others," Avilla said. He stood up to leave and turned back to Garcia. "Does Doña Eva have a place to stay tonight?"

Garcia's eyebrows crinkled in confusion at the question and it finally sunk in that Eva no longer had a home. Everything she had was gone, burned to ashes. No pots and pans, no clothes, no bed to sleep in. There was no putting it back together in an afternoon. Where would she go? He couldn't allow her to return to the tavern, she was already attacked there once. Besides, neither one of them could afford it.

The sergeant swallowed hard, choking back tears. Just moments ago, he vowed he would not let anything else bad happen to her. He failed. "Sí, she can stay with our friends."

Avilla smiled sadly. "If she needs anything, please don't hesitate to ask me." Garcia muttered his thanks and the doctor headed off to see if anyone else needed his assistance.

They continued to sit on the ground, watching the flames from the bakery slowly go down. Some of the people stopped to check on them and the merchant who earlier offered them water returned with a fresh supply. Garcia mumbled his thanks and told the passersby they were unharmed, not really having the energy to deal with them. He wanted to get Eva away from her destroyed bakery and the nosy busybodies of the plaza.

Garcia spotted Reyes close by and hollered, "Corporal!"

The lancer raised his eyebrows and pointed to himself as he walked over. "Do you mean me, Sergeant? I am only a private. Don't you remember this afternoon?"

"You are a corporal again," Garcia sighed shaking his head. "You handled things very well tonight."

"Gracias, Sergeant," Reyes relied. "I know how important it is to put a fire out early."

"I am glad of that," Garcia said sadly. "Did you see anything suspicious tonight?"

"Sí, Sergeant," Reyes replied. "When Private Sanchez and I arrived to take our posts at the bakery, there were some men hanging around by the side of the building. Before we even had a chance to chase them, the fire flared up and they were gone."

"That is just our luck lately." Garcia's head dropped. "Will you go to the cuartel and get the carriage? I want to get the señora away from here. Also, gather some lancers for an escort."

"The carriage?" the corporal's eyes widened. "But that is for the capitán…when we have a capitán."

"Well, I am the acting commandante and I am going to use it," Garcia declared.

"All right, Sergeant," Reyes said, muttering something unintelligible as he left. When he returned with the carriage and lancers in tow, Garcia helped Eva to her feet and led her to the door. She didn't utter a sound or make eye contact. It was like she was in a trance or something. He didn't know what to say to cheer her up, but then again, if he lost everything, he doubted words would do any good.

"You are in charge here, Corporal Reyes, until I return."

* * *

"You can't be serious, Diego," Alejandro exclaimed in astonishment as he headed into the library. "Doña Eva del Lugo and Sergeant Garcia are having supper together? Alone?"

Diego chuckled at the way his father put emphasis on that last word. "Yes, they are. Considering the sergeant's finesse with women, I also think it's safe to assume the señora invited him." He closed the door behind them once they were in the room.

"Must you find this so amusing?" Alejandro rolled his eyes as he poured two glasses of wine from the decanter on the desk. He handed one of them to his son. "You knew this all evening and you waited until now to tell me?"

"Sí, Father," Diego grinned slyly, taking a sip of the wine. "I was afraid you would race to the plaza and barge in on their evening. It's bad enough that Zorro will be paying them a visit shortly. I doubt they want your company, too."

"It's unacceptable for a single man and a widow to be alone together, especially at her home!" Alejandro nearly shouted, his temper rearing its ugly head again. He dropped into a chair and set his glass on the adjacent table, the liquid untouched. "Have you lost all common sense, Diego?"

"Calm down, Father," Diego advised, sitting on the edge of the desk. "This is Sergeant Garcia we are talking about. You don't really think he would do anything inappropriate, do you?"

"He is a man and she is a woman. Enough said," Alejandro justified. "Or have you forgotten the talk we had when you were younger?" he added with a raised eyebrow.

"No, I haven't," Diego grinned, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "In fact, I remember quite vividly how red you got in the face. Who would have ever thought Don Alejandro de la Vega could embarrass so easily."

"This is not a laughing matter, Diego," Alejandro scolded, shifting uncomfortably. "This is serious."

"All right, I will find Bernardo and have him saddle Tornado," he said peacefully, taking another sip of his wine. The door of the library opened and the mute appeared. "Well, speak of the devil…"

Bernardo tilted his head in confusion and shrugged his shoulders.

"It is nothing, my friend," Diego noted. "My father and I were just discussing Sergeant Garcia's plans for this evening." The mute's face lit up with a big smile.

"Don't tell me you also approve?" Alejandro asked incredulously, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "I am outnumbered in my own home."

Diego laughed. He set his glass down and folded his arms over his chest. With a softer voice, he inquired of his father: "The sergeant has a good heart. Would a match between them really be so bad?"

"It is not that," Alejandro sighed. "After being married to Don Javier for all these years, God only knows that Doña Eva deserves some happiness. If she finds it with Garcia, I have no opposition. But for them to blatantly ignore the laws of decorum is not acceptable."

"All right," Diego conceded. He turned to Bernardo who traced a 'Z' in the air with his finger. "Yes, saddle Tornado. I will meet you in the cave in a few minutes. Zorro is going to make sure things don't go too far between the lovebirds."

The mute disappeared into the secret passage behind the bookcase and Diego turned to his father. "It's still early. Will be you be waiting up for me when I return?"

"Of course," Alejandro answered. "I want to find out what's going on as much as you do." Picking up his glass, he stood and followed Diego out of the library, giving him a gentle pat on the back along the way. The older de la Vega took a seat at the small table on the patio. "It is much more comfortable out here now that the sun has set," he observed. "Good luck, my son."

Diego smiled, gave his father a small salute and began climbing the stairs. The sound of hoofs coming to a stop on the other side of the wall surrounding the hacienda drew both men's attention. "Who could that be?" Alejandro inquired. "I am not expecting any guests."

"Let's find out," Diego replied, descending the steps and opening the gate. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw the army's formal carriage sitting before him, a lancer flanking either side. The surprise gave way to pure shock when Garcia exited the coach, covered in soot, hair matted down with sweat and face smudged with dirt.

"What happened?" Diego exclaimed. Garcia helped Eva down and the young don's jaw dropped. She looked to be in even worse shape than the sergeant. Not only was she covered from head to toe in soot like him, the lower portion of her dress was badly singed and tattered. Her hair stuck out in disarray and pieces of ash clung to it, coloring her raven locks dusty gray. A white bandage enveloped her hand.

Both the sergeant and señora reeked of smoke.

Alejandro raced over and father and son exchanged worrying glances.

"There was a fire at the bakery," Garcia said with the pang of guilt evident in his voice. "It is destroyed. There was no place else for Eva to go. I do not want to impose on you…"

"It is no imposition, Sergeant," Alejandro cut in. He gently took Eva by the arm and led her to the table. "Sit down, my dear. May I get you something to drink?"

When she didn't respond, Alejandro looked at Garcia. "Doctor Avilla said she was in shock," the sergeant explained. "She hasn't said much since the fire."

Alejandro frowned. "I will fetch Cresencia to help Doña Eva to get cleaned up."

"What happened, Sergeant?" Diego inquired as his father disappeared into the hacienda.

"We were having supper when Eva smelled smoke." Garcia began detailing the flaming bottles thrown through the windows and how they tried to put them out. In doing so, they almost became trapped since the outer walls were already on fire. He explained how it wasn't an accident; Corporal Reyes and Private Sanchez saw men hanging around the outside of the bakery when the blaze started.

"Was anyone hurt?"

"No, Don Diego," Garcia replied, "but the bakery was destroyed. I didn't know where else to bring her so she would be safe." The sergeant looked at Eva with concern evident in his eyes.

"You did the right thing bringing her here, Sergeant," Diego said reassuringly.

At that moment, Alejandro returned with Cresencia. The housekeeper took one look at the disheveled couple and muttered, "Madre de Dios. Is everyone all right?" With assurances that no one was hurt, she ran over to Eva and knelt down beside her. "Doña Eva, please come with me. I will draw you a bath and we will find some fresh clothes for you."

Cresencia took the señora by the arm and led her up the stairs to the guest room. Diego watched Garcia follow the women with his eyes. "Did you hear anything before the fire?" Diego asked when they were out of sight, hoping for a clue, maybe even a name to work with.

"I am afraid not. We were," the sergeant paused, "talking and it was quiet, but we didn't hear anyone outside. If I had just heard something, this…this wouldn't have happened."

"This isn't your fault, Sergeant," Diego said firmly. "The most important thing is that no lives were lost. If you did hear a noise and went to investigate, things could have turned out much different. These men burned down Señora del Lugo's bakery with the two of you inside; they would not have hesitated to kill you if you stepped outside."

Garcia looked at the young don, his face etched in guilt. "I sent the guards away when I arrived…"

"And you may have saved their lives by doing so," Diego countered.

Garcia lowered his head, not convinced by the words.

"Listen to me, Sergeant," Diego repeated, placing a reassuring hand on the lancer's shoulder. "This was not your fault. Do you understand me?" He grasped Garcia's other shoulder, forcing the man to raise his head and meet his eyes. "This was _not_ your fault."

"Diego is right," Alejandro chimed in. "We should be thankful that no one was killed."

Garcia swallowed hard and visibly fought back tears. "Gracias, Don Alejandro, gracias, Don Diego," he responded softly. "But what will she do now?"

Father and son exchanged an uncertain look. "I don't know," Diego replied in defeat.

"Doña Eva is welcome in our home for as long as she needs," Alejandro vowed. "I will alert the vaqueros to keep an eye out for any strangers near our property. We will catch these vile animals."

"Gracias, Don Alejandro," Garcia nodded. "I will station some of my lancers here with your permission."

"That is a good idea, Sergeant," Alejandro expressed.

They briefly worked out the details and Garcia turned to leave. He stopped and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bottle. "This is for Eva," he murmured. "She has a minor burn on her hand. Doctor Avilla said to apply this every few hours and to replace the bandage with a fresh one."

Diego took the bottle from him. "Sergeant, you are welcomed to get cleaned up here if you would like. I will send Bernardo to prepare a bath and retrieve a fresh uniform from the cuartel."

"That is very kind of you, Don Diego, but I must be getting back to the plaza and see how the efforts are progressing." Garcia nodded his thanks once again and stepped into the carriage.

Diego waved to the sergeant as the driver urged the horses forward. When the coach faded into the darkness, he secured the gate and slumped heavily onto the stone and tile retaining wall that encircled the patio tree. Resting his arms on his knees, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"This is getting out of hand," Alejandro hissed. "They could very well have been killed tonight."

"I know, Father," Diego concurred, anger evident in his tone. "This must come to an end and soon. The señora is in no condition to provide answers tonight, but Zorro is definitely going to pay her a visit tomorrow." He straightened his form and handed the small bottle to his father. "Make sure Cresencia gets this. I'm going to get dressed. Let's pray the fox can find the trail tonight."

"Diego."

Alejandro's voice stopped his son on the stairs and he turned to look at his father.

"Be careful."

* * *

The early morning rays of the sun landed on Silvio Salazar's cheek. He groggily reached out and tried to brush the pesky warmth away. When that didn't work, he rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head. A swift kit to his rear startled him wide awake. Silvio reached for his pistol and searched for his attacker through squinted eyes.

"What in the hell are you doing?" he exclaimed when he saw his brother standing over him.

"It's time to get up."

Silvio scrambled across the dirt to where his saddlebags were propped up against a rock. He burrowed through the contents, finally coming across the pocket watch he stole last month. "It's just after seven o'clock," he protested. "You are lucky the sun is even out at this hour."

Roland shook his head, "I am tried of playing games, both with you and Señora del Lugo. It's time to finish this once and for all and get the map."

"What makes you still think she has it?" Silvio asked incredulously. "We both saw it. She and that fat sergeant were nearly roasted alive last night. If the map was really in the bakery, there would be nothing left of it. Like I said before, even you can't put ashes back together."

Roland leaned down and stared into his brother's eyes. "And why do you think they were nearly roasted alive? There was more than enough time for them to escape before the fire got that far advanced. She was fetching the map."

"I don't believe it," Silvio voiced, edging back away from his brother.

"I don't care whether you believe it or not," Roland stated. "Carlos, Xavier and Tacito are waiting for us at the way station between here and San Gabriel. We are going to ride out and meet them. If we leave now, we can be back to the outskirts of Los Angeles by nightfall. Then one or two of us can hang out in the plaza tomorrow and learn where the señora is staying."

"Why do we have to bring them into it?" Silvio argued. "It just means we have to give them a cut of the treasure when," he paused, "or if we find it."

"They didn't make the voyage from La Paz with me just to make camp at some dusty way station in California," Roland bit back. "Besides, we may need the extra manpower to haul the bounty away and I trust these men. We have been through many tight scrapes together."

"What if the legends are wrong, and there is no emperor's gold?" Silvio inquired. "Whatever trade items survived won't go very far between five of us."

"Then we simply slit their throats," Roland grinned, pulling his dagger from its sheath.

Silvio rubbed his neck and swallowed hard at his brother's open callousness. "How do you know they aren't thinking the same thing?" He hated to imagine what his brother would do to men he didn't trust.

"Oh, they are," Roland said devilishly, playing with the blade. "As soon as they learned you gambled away the map, they were prepared to kill you. Carlos wanted to shoot you, Xavier wanted to string you up by your neck and Tacito wanted to stake you to the desert and let the vultures eat your eyes out. The only reason you are alive right now is because I convinced them of you usefulness. So I suppose you should be thanking me right now, brother."

Silvio's eyes widened in horror and he struggled to contain his fear, knowing his brother would only get some twisted satisfaction from it. If there was one good thing about this situation, at least Roland was on his side. "And you want me to go have lunch with them?" he managed to quip.

"You are finally developing a sense of humor," Roland laughed, "and growing a backbone."

Silvio shrugged off the taunt and started rolling up his blankets. He saddled his horse, secured the bedroll and went to gather the utensils by the campfire. "At least let me heat the remnants up. I'm hungry."

"We don't have time," Roland chastised. "Here," he tossed a small leather pouch to his brother.

Silvio caught it with ease and unfastened the clasp. His forehead wrinkled in frustration. "Jerky? You expect me to eat beef jerky for breakfast?"

"If it was good enough for me, it should be good enough for you," Roland said, rolling his eyes and sheathing his dagger. "If you don't want it, toss it back to me."

Silvio looked from the pouch to his brother to the pouch again. His grumbling stomach made his final decision easy. "I will hang on to it for now." He pulled out a piece and shoved it into his mouth as he went about dismantling the campsite.

"Don't waste time messing with that," Roland instructed while mounting his horse.

Silvio peered at him curiously, "We need to get rid of any traces we were here."

"This will all be over tomorrow night. I don't give a damn whether the soldiers find this place or not."

Silvio shrugged his shoulders and mounted his own horse. He followed his brother as they rode to El Camino Real and north toward San Gabriel. A hard knot formed in the pit of his stomach and it wasn't from the beef jerky. Deep down, he had an odd feeling this wasn't going to end well.

Maybe the _Santa Quintero_ really was cursed.

* * *

"Come on, Corporal, let's go back to the cuartel," Garcia sighed with obvious disappointment. The two lancers just finished questioning the owner of the general store about what he saw last night. "How did so many people in the plaza see so little?" the sergeant wondered aloud.

"What do you mean, Sergeant?" Reyes asked.

"We have talked to just about everyone in the pueblo this morning, right?" Garcia reasoned while walking down the street to the garrison.

"Sí, and most of this afternoon, too," Reyes added.

"Of those who saw the men lurking around the bakery, one witness says he saw two tall men; another says he saw two short men. Then there is Señor Guzman who saw one tall man and one short man. Both men were skinny, both were fat, one was skinny and the other was fat. They cannot agree on anything," Garcia said, throwing up his hands in frustration.

"That's not true, Sergeant," Reyes pointed out.

"What do you mean?" Garcia asked, stopping to look at the corporal.

"Well, they all agree there were two men."

Garcia opened his mouth, ready to call the lower ranking soldier a baboso, but stopped. He raised his eyebrows. "You have a point there, Corporal Reyes. With Señora Munoz's bad eyesight, we are lucky she didn't report seeing three women." He shook his head and continued walking.

"I'm surprised Zorro hasn't caught them yet," Reyes said.

Garcia turned his head, a little unnerved that the corporal spoke the very words he was thinking. It worried him that the masked bandit hadn't delivered the evil monsters to his jail by now. Sightings of the fox and his familiar 'Z' were also mysteriously absent lately. "You noticed that too, eh?"

"I think everyone has, Sergeant," Reyes replied. "Zorro always protects the people. He has even helped us many times." The corporal's voice turned apprehensive. "You don't suppose he is hurt…or dead?"

"Do not say such things," Garcia hushed him, glancing around to make sure no one overhead them. He hated to admit the idea also crossed into his mind during the past week. The reactions of the people in the plaza would not be favorable if they thought their hero was dead. "There could be many reasons why he has not been seen, or why he has not caught Doña Eva's attackers."

"Like what?" Reyes inquired.

"Well, there's…and then…and you know how he…" Garcia trailed off, unable to come up with any type of reason, plausible or not. "He must have a good reason; we just do not know it."

"I hope you are right, Sergeant."

"I hope I am, too," Garcia mumbled.

Silence fell between the two lancers and they continued walking to the cuartel, Garcia pushing horrible thoughts of a dead fox out of his mind. Instead, he tried to focus on Eva, but even that was not easy. He should have ridden to the de la Vega hacienda first thing this morning to check up on her, but he didn't. As the acting commandante, there were duties that he had to perform. Or at least that is what he tried to tell himself. The sergeant knew the real reason he didn't go to see Eva earlier.

He failed her.

He couldn't stop her from being attacked in the tavern; he couldn't stop her bakery from being vandalized; and he couldn't stop her bakery – her home – from burning down.

When they reached the gates of the cuartel, Garcia dismissed Reyes and headed to his office. Exhaling heavily, he sat down in the chair and pulled a few sheets of paper from the desk drawer. He dipped the quill into a bottle of ink and began writing his official report.

A knock on the door interrupted him and he announced for the visitor to enter.

"Ah, Don Diego, it is good to see you," Garcia greeted, his sprits improving with his friend's unexpected arrival. He waved to Bernardo, "and you too, little one." He rose from his seat and motioned for them to sit. "What can I do for you today?"

"My father and I would like to invite you for supper at our hacienda this evening," Diego answered with his customary cheerful and pleasant demeanor.

"That sounds wonderful," Garcia beamed, his smile slowly fading when he realized who else would be a guest, "but I am sorry I will not be able to make it. I might be busy later." The excuse sounded feeble even to him. His eyes turned downward and he asked timidly, "How is Eva?"

"She is doing much better today," Diego replied. "Doña Eva is depressed about her store, but that is to be expected under the circumstances. On the positive side, she and Cresencia are becoming fast friends. The señora is a remarkably resilient woman."

"That is good to hear," Garcia said, unable to hide his regret.

"I think she would like to see you," Diego added softly.

Diego's gentle tone boosted the sergeant's confidence and amplified his dread at the same time. "I would like to see her, too," Garcia said quietly. "Is she angry with me?"

"Of course not, Sergeant." Diego's voice was strong and decisive. "She knows, just as we all do, that you bear no responsibility for what happened last night. You did not set her bakery on fire."

Garcia shifted uncomfortably under the young don's scrutinizing gaze. His friend had a way of making him feel guilty for feeling guilty. He finally relented, "I would be happy to join you tonight." After all, he really did want to see Eva; and if Diego said she wasn't angry, he knew it was true.

"I'm glad we have that settled," Diego grinned.

"Me, too, I think," Garcia muttered. He leaned forward with his crossed arms on the desk.

"Have you made any progress catching the arsonists?" Diego inquired.

"I am afraid not," Garcia answered dejectedly. "Corporal Reyes and I have talked to just about everyone in the plaza today, hoping they saw something important, but we still don't have anything that will help us catch the men who keep attacking Eva."

"I am sorry to hear that, Sergeant," Diego replied. "Is something else bothering you?"

"Why do you say that?" Garcia wondered curiously.

"I get the feeling there is more on you mind that just Doña Eva and her attackers," Diego explained. "You seem to be carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

The sergeant stared at his friend carefully for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. Finally coming to a decision, he glanced cautiously around the room to make sure they would not be overheard. He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "Actually, there is something else bothering me, Don Diego," he confided. "You don't think that Zorro is dead, do you?"

"Zorro dead?" Diego repeated incredulously. "Where did you hear this?"

"I did not hear it anywhere," Garcia sighed. "It's just that he has not been seen in a while and with Eva's attackers on the loose, it's a little strange. Even the nightly patrols haven't spotted him."

"Isn't that a good thing, Sergeant?" Diego asked. "With you and your lancers busy trying to find these two men, it should be a relief that you don't have to worry about the bandit causing trouble."

"You would think so," Garcia mumbled.

"You are acting rather strange, Sergeant, considering you are always so eager to catch Zorro and collect the two thousand peso reward. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a little fond of him."

Garcia shook his head and looked at his friend. "You must realize by now that Zorro isn't like other bandits. He always helps the people of Los Angeles, he never hurts them. Sometimes he is the only person looking out for the peons and Indians. When you look at it like that, he's not really a bandit at all." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Sometimes I hope that he will never be caught."

Diego raised an eyebrow. "Are you feeling ill, Sergeant?"

"Zorro even saved Don Alejandro once, remember?" Garcia said trying to convince his friend.

"That's true," Diego conceded.

"The first time he was ever seen was when he saved Don Ignacio Torres from Capitán Monastario," Garcia added. "That was about the time you returned from Spain." His eyes narrowed; for a fleeting second, he could have sworn that Diego looked strangely uncomfortable.

Maybe it was because the capitán later accused him of being Zorro, using the reasoning that the bandit first appeared after Diego's return from the university. But that was just a silly coincidence, wasn't it? Garcia wasn't so sure anymore. It wasn't just any school the young don attended, he went to military school. Where they teach the art of fencing…

There was no one in California that could match the fox's skill with a sword. Not even a highly trained officer like Monastario was a match for the devil in black; a devil who knew the countryside like a man who grew up here. The capitán abused the citizens of the pueblo for over a year before Zorro appeared to fight him. Where was the fox during that time? Why did he only appear when Diego returned?

"I remember that," Diego said. "Don Nacho took sanctuary at the mission and the capitán was none too pleased. Zorro's interfering started the chain of events that got my father shot."

Garcia wanted to reach out and shake some sense into the young caballero. How could he blame Zorro for Monastario shooting Don Alejandro? If the fox hadn't intervened, the elder de la Vega would have been killed. Suddenly, Diego's flippant attitude regarding his father's wound seemed very out of place.

That morning, when the sergeant went to the hacienda and informed Diego that his father had been shot, the young man barely batted an eyelash. Instead of wanting to ride to Alejandro's rescue, he drank with the lancers in the sala. How could this be the same son who was challenged to a duel by a professional swordsman while defending his father?

He thought back to his conversation with Eva and her words echoed in his mind. _There is a fire in Don Diego, just as there is in his father… That proves he has courage and a sense of adventure._

Garcia tried to shrug these curious notions away. "Zorro has also saved my life many times," he declared. "Remember when Magistrato Galindo was going to have me executed by firing squad for stealing the army payroll? It was Zorro who found the real thief and kept me from getting killed."

"I suppose he did," Diego said, looking completely indifferent to the argument.

"And when Corporal Reyes and I were delivering the money collected for supplies to Señor Verdugo in Monterey, it was Zorro who rescued us. You should be grateful; he even saved Señorita Verdugo's life." Garcia stiffened in his chair.

Diego was in Monterey at the same time as the fox and both men were in love with the same woman. When the governor offered the masked bandit amnesty, the young don was nowhere to be seen in the plaza. As soon as the hour of the Angelus passed, Zorro rode in and swept the señorita away. He couldn't be… It was impossible. Not just impossible, it was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

"All right, Sergeant," Diego threw up his hands in defeat. "You have convinced me there is more to Zorro that I give him credit for. But what is the point of all of this?"

"The point I am making is that Zorro would not just sit idly by while Eva was repeatedly attacked," Garcia asserted, pushing the strange concept out of his mind. "He would track them down, slice 'Z's in their clothes and deliver them to the cuartel. But no one has seen him, including the nightly patrols. I even gave them orders not to pursue Zorro."

Diego seemed surprised by this last bit of news.

"He must have his reasons, but I cannot figure them out. What if he is hurt or dead?"

A sad smile formed on Diego's lips. "Did you ever consider that perhaps Zorro is having as much difficulty as you in apprehending these men?"

"That's what really scares me," Garcia admitted. "If Zorro cannot stop them, who will?"


	7. Chapter VI

**The Curse of the Santa Quintero**

**Chapter VI**

"It was a lovely supper, Don Alejandro," Eva complimented as the group of dinner companions settled into the sitting area of the sala. "I just wish you did not go to so much trouble. I doubt you have such extravagant meals every evening." She sat down on the sofa and motioned for Sergeant Garcia to join her. He blushed and clumsily sat down beside her.

"It was no trouble at all," Alejandro replied, pouring four glasses of wine. He handed two of the crystal goblets to his son and Diego delivered them to their guests.

"Besides," Diego added, "I believe Maria wanted to show off a little. She has been raving about your delicious treats and was eager to try out her best recipes on you, Doña Eva." He took a goblet from his father and leaned against the piano.

"She did a magnificent job," Eva said. "I must pay her my full compliments later."

"Sí," Garcia chimed in, turning his head to the señora. "It was a delicious meal with charming company."

Alejandro rolled his eyes at the lovebirds and Diego struggled not to laugh. He lifted his glass to his father, winked and sipped the contents. The older de la Vega responded by narrowing his eyes and shaking his head. Diego grinned.

"It is such a beautiful night," Eva observed, drawing the attention of her hosts. "Do you mind if I step out to your garden to enjoy the cool breeze and gaze at the stars?"

"Not at all," Alejandro bowed.

"Gracias," Eva replied. She stood and Garcia sprung to his feet after her. "Would you please accompany me, Demetrio?" she asked, giving him a warm smile.

"I would be delighted to, Eva," Garcia beamed, proudly holding out his elbow. She wrapped her arms around him and they walked out to the garden, barely taking their eyes off one another.

Once they were out of the room, Alejandro moved to stand closer to his son. "It is nauseating, Diego," he proclaimed, taking a long drink from his glass. "They are acting like love sick children. Did you hear the way they address each other? Eva and Demetrio," he huffed.

"I'm surprised you didn't notice that last night," Diego smiled. His eyes sparked mischievously. "Are you going to tell me you never behaved that way with Mother?"

"I always acted in a manner befitting a gentleman and a de la Vega," Alejandro spouted.

"If you say so, Father," Diego laughed, "but Mother told me a different story regarding your courtship."

"All right, Diego, you win. There is no point in denying it. I did many outlandish things to win the heart of your mother and I think she took great pleasure in watching me make a fool of myself." Alejandro grinned, "I would do them all over again for her, too."

"Then you should understand how they feel," Diego noted softly.

"They are more serious about each other than I realized," Alejandro admitted.

Diego set his glass down and folded his arms over his chest. "Well, at least they have proper supervision this evening," he teased. "It's the least we could do after their failed dinner engagement last night."

"Does Zorro still have plans to interrupt them?" Alejandro inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course," Diego replied, turning serious. "We need to put a stop to these attacks before one or both of them are killed. I am convinced Doña Eva knows more that she lets on. If Zorro can get her to open up, one more interrupted evening may be the best thing to happen to the couple."

"How do you want to proceed?"

"Let's give them a few minutes to get settled in before the fox arrives," Diego grinned. "Stay in the shadows and if it appears she will cooperate, you can conveniently stumble across the meeting."

"Are you sure I should also be there?" Alejandro asked.

"Sí, Father," Diego nodded. "Considering the severity of the circumstances, I think it would be best for both of us to observe the señora. One of us might pick up on something the other misses, and now is not the time to overlook even the slightest detail."

"You have a point, my son," Alejandro agreed.

"There is something else," Diego hesitated, tugging at his earlobe. "When I rode into the pueblo this afternoon to invite the sergeant to supper, we had the strangest conversation. He actually proclaimed his admiration for Zorro, going so far as to admit he didn't want to see the bandit captured."

"That does not seem so strange. It's well known that Zorro has saved Garcia's life on several occasions," Alejandro pointed out. "He is probably hoping the bandit will help capture the men attacking Doña Eva."

"Oh, he said as much," Diego responded. "The sergeant was very concerned that Zorro hadn't delivered the men to the cuartel yet. He gave the patrols orders not to pursue the outlaw if they crossed paths."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Alejandro asked, tilting his head in confusion.

"I'm not so sure," Diego replied. "It's hard to explain, but as he defended Zorro's actions, he brought up when the bandit was first seen and how he once saved your life. The way Sergeant Garcia looked at me when he was talking, it just…" he trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe the odd feeling.

Alejandro's eyes widened in shock, "You don't think Garcia suspects you?"

"No," Diego answered. "Not yet, anyway. But since I have already questioned the señora as Diego, I would feel much better if you were present tonight to draw Garcia's attention away from the fox. He has a tendency to get flustered around you. If anything, perhaps it will help deflect any half formed ideas in our dear sergeant's head."

Alejandro's expression was etched with concern. "Maybe it would be best if Zorro speaks to the señora alone, after Sergeant Garcia leaves."

"Where would the fun be in that?" Diego asked roguishly. "Zorro cannot avoid our acting commandante forever, and as Doña Eva observed, tonight is a beautiful night to be outside."

"I hope you know what you are doing, Diego," Alejandro sighed. As they crossed to the other side of the room to the cabinet that concealed the entrance into the secret passage, he placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "You know, I hate to imagine what it would be like living with you if Zorro did not exist."

"Why is that?" Diego asked curiously.

Alejandro's lips curled up in a sly grin reminiscent of his son's, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "At times like these, you remind me eerily of your Uncle Esteban."

* * *

The black clad figure carefully crawled over the wall behind the de la Vega hacienda, taking refuge in the shadows of the residence. He observed the couple strolling quietly along the garden path, arms entwined, both looking lost in their own thoughts. When they stopped at the small sitting area in the middle of the lush greenery, the señora took a seat on the stone bench while her companion stood to the side, shuffling his feet and focusing his attention on the adjacent bird bath.

"I…I am sorry that I didn't visit you earlier," Sergeant Garcia stammered. "It's just that with the fire and the…you know… the kiss, I wasn't sure you wanted to see me."

The kiss? Zorro's eyes widened in surprise; perhaps his father had a valid argument regarding the couple needing supervision after all.

Eva raised her head, a smile plainly evident on her face. "I do not think I have ever seen such a bashful man before," she teased. "It is a very endearing quality on you, Demetrio."

Garcia looked down at his feet and clasped his hands behind his back; even in the glow of the moon, his cheeks were noticeably flushed. It was the same shy expression of a small boy getting a compliment from a pretty girl for the first time.

"I am glad that you agreed to join us for supper," she continued. "With everything that happened last night, I was afraid you didn't want to see me anymore. That notion hurt more than losing my store."

Garcia's eyes met hers. "Oh no, Eva, of course I wanted to see you. I thought you might be mad at me, that maybe I acted inappropriately, or I would remind you of your lost bakery."

Zorro leaned against the side of the hacienda and covered his eyes with his gloved hand. His father was right; this was nauseating. For a brief moment, he wondered if the older de la Vega was listening in on the gushing words. Alejandro would undoubtedly be beet red by now. The fox shrugged those thoughts away. It was time to get this over with.

"Buenas noches, Señora del Lugo, Sergeant Garcia," Zorro announced stepping out of the shadows. He spread his arms and bowed gracefully. "It's a lovely evening to be enjoying the garden, is it not?"

"Zorro!" Garcia exclaimed. "Oh, am I glad to see you! It's good that you are not dead."

"I am happy to report that I am very much alive, Sergeant," Zorro responded. "Since you appear relieved to see me, I trust that you will not call for your lancers."

"No, of course not," Garcia said excitedly. "I am hoping you can help Eva."

"That's why I am here," Zorro replied.

Eva clutched Garcia's forearm and looked from the masked man to the sergeant with wide eyes. "This is the outlaw Zorro you have spoken of? The man you pursue in the hills? Why should I trust him?" Her voice remained steady, belying her show of fear. The fox found this reaction quite intriguing.

"Well, it is my duty to chase him," Garcia explained, "but he doesn't really deserve to be chased. He has helped many people, including me. An ordinary outlaw would not save a soldier's life. We can both trust him. Zorro may be a rascal, but he is an honorable rascal."

"Gracias," Zorro quipped.

"You are welcome," Garcia replied ecstatically.

Eva eyed the bandit suspiciously. "How do I know he is not the one who vandalized my bakery and set it on fire? An honorable man does not hide behind a mask."

Zorro took a step forward. "I assure you, Señora, I mean no harm. I only wish to aid justice. These men who continue to attack you are becoming more brazen with each attempt. Last night, they rode north out of the pueblo, circled around and returned. They were in the plaza watching your bakery burn with you inside. If they are not stopped, this may not end until you die."

Garcia's expression turned into one of terror. Eva's shoulders stiffened and she released her grasp on the sergeant, keeping her eyes on the fox. "Please, Eva, trust him," Garcia urged. "I do not want anything else bad happening to you."

"The vandalism indicates they want something from you," Zorro continued while holding her gaze, "but the fire indicates a more personal affair, as if they had a vendetta to settle with you. After the two men returned to the pueblo, I was unable to pick up their tracks again. They are probably out there right now in the hills planning their next move."

"What do you want from me, Señor Zorro?" she asked softly.

"A person does not become such a target without knowing why," Zorro answered.

Eva broke the eye contact. "You think I know the reason for the attacks?"

"Sí," Zorro said tersely, "and if you want my help, you had better tell me the truth."

Eva clasped her hands together on her lap. She lowered her head and remained quiet. Zorro was about to push her further when she finally spoke. "They are after a map to the _Santa Quintero_'s treasure."

"The _Santa Quintero_?" Garcia repeated disbelievingly. "The sunken ship?"

"Sergeant Garcia, Doña Eva, there you are," Alejandro addressed the pair, entering the garden. Zorro vanished into the shadows. "Are you both all right? I did not mean to startle you."

"No, you didn't…uh…didn't startle us," Garcia replied, throwing worried glances between the don and the darkness that cloaked the fox. "We were just…"

"Buenas noches, Don Alejandro," Zorro greeted, stepping into the moonlight.

"Zorro!" Alejandro exclaimed, turning to Garcia. "What is the meaning of this, Sergeant?"

"Señora del Lugo has just started to inform us what her attackers are after," Zorro answered in place of the sergeant. "Please join us. I have a feeling this will be a very fascinating tale."

Garcia stood stiff as a board, knowing full well he was caught between a rock and a hard place. In this case, the rock was one of the most respected dons in California and the hard place was the rascal of an outlaw. "Please, Don Alejandro," he pleaded, "Zorro is here to help us."

The don narrowed his eyes, looking between the bandit and the couple perched at the stone bench. "Very well, Sergeant Garcia," he nodded. "I am willing to hear Doña Eva's story."

"Gracias, Don Alejandro," the sergeant replied, "gracias."

"Now, Señora, what were you saying about a map to the _Santa Quintero_'s treasure?" Zorro urged.

"My husband, Javier, was fascinated with tales of the _Santa Quintero_ when he was a child. As he grew older, that fascination turned into a full blown obsession," Eva sighed. "His entire life was devoted to finding the treasure at any cost."

"I heard tales of the ship when I was a boy," Alejandro said. "It was said to be carrying a fortune when it shipwrecked off the coast of Mexico. Many of my friends went in search of it as they got older. When they came home empty handed, their interest in it dwindled. After all, it's nothing more than a fairy tale."

"Javier did not think so," Eva smiled sadly. "He made the journey to Spain twenty-three years ago for the sole purpose of speaking with a government official in Seville who had knowledge of the ship's purpose. He spent a few weeks in Bilbao; during that time he met my father and our marriage was arranged. It was a short engagement, and before I knew it we were sailing to Cuba on our honeymoon. Once we arrived in Havana, I learned the shipbuilder was based in the city."

"I don't quite understand," Zorro interrupted. "The _Santa Quintero_ was a Manila Galleon, correct?"

"Sí," Eva replied. "The _Quintero_ was making its maiden voyage to the Philippines in 1769 carrying supplies for the settlement in Manila. It was to return to Mexico with valuable goods for trade in Spain."

"That is what confounds me," the fox clarified. "The trade ships primarily hauled items like spices, sugar, tobacco, silk and porcelain. If the _Santa Quintero_ shipwrecked, most of these items wouldn't survive being in the water for very long. The galleons were not brimming with gold."

Feeling Garcia's gaze on him, Zorro directed his attention to the sergeant. The curious expression on the soldier's round face held that odd element again, causing the niggling feeling to return. Out of the corner of his eye, the fox noticed Alejandro picked up on the strange exchange between the two men. Zorro let out a small sigh of relief, hoping his father could deflect the sergeant.

"That is very true," Eva acknowledged. "When the trade route was active, the galleons sailed between Acapulco and Manila. Upon returning to Mexico, the goods would be transferred by land to the port at Veracruz. The cargo would then be loaded onto ships bound for Seville, but the _Quintero_ wasn't on an ordinary trade operation."

"What was different about the _Santa Quintero_?" Alejandro asked.

"The ship was sailed by Capitán Adán Marquez, a decorated naval officer. He handpicked a crew of just over two hundred men, even though the _Quintero_ was capable of accommodating a crew of over four hundred." Eva smiled and her eyes lit up. "It was not a simple trade expedition; Capitán Marquez was on a special assignment for King Charles."

The three men exchanged curious looks. It was Sergeant Garcia who voiced the question they were all thinking. "What kind of special assignment?"

"Tensions were running higher than usual between our king and Portugal's King José," Eva began. "To demonstrate Spain was still the stronger and more resourceful naval power, Capitán Marquez had orders to sail into the Portuguese colony of Macau in China and…," she paused, "embarrass them."

"Embarrass them?" Zorro queried, the mask hiding a raised eyebrow.

"He sailed into their port under their flag," she grinned, "and sailed out with a fortune in Portuguese goods. Capitán Marquez and his crew didn't even have to lift a finger. It was loaded on for them."

"It's amazing," Alejandro muttered.

"I mean no disrespect, Señora, but what does this have to do with a hidden treasure?" Zorro challenged cautiously, wary of arousing further suspicion in the sergeant. "The Portuguese traded in similar items from the Far East as we did; therefore, the cargo would still have been susceptible to damage from a shipwreck. Assuming the crew managed to haul it to shore safely, it has been over fifty years. If the surviving crew didn't plunder it first, time would surely have taken its toll."

"You have valid reasoning, Señor Zorro," Eva complimented, "if that were the _Santa Quintero_'s only bounty. While docked in Macau, the crew got word the Emperor of China bestowed a gift to one of his sons in honor of the birth of his grandchild; a gift consisting of chests full of gold, silver, pearls and gemstones. The Imperial Guard was transporting it by carriage from the Forbidden City to the coast, where it would be taken by boat to the son's palace in Shanghai. Capitán Marquez sacked the boat and made off with the treasure."

"I don't believe it," Alejandro exclaimed, shaking his head. "It's absurd. Stolen Chinese gold buried in California? Who would believe such nonsense?"

"My husband, for one," Eva answered. "I recognize how fantastic it all sounds. It was difficult for me to accept as well, but Javier did his research. Not only did he speak to the officials in Spain who approved the operation, he also met with emissaries stationed in Manila. They saw the riches first hand when Marquez berthed there to prepare for the crossing to Mexico. Javier would disappear for weeks and months at a time searching for any clue leading to the treasure."

"And he never found it," Alejandro stated resolutely.

"No, he didn't," Eva admitted. "Since it was a special undertaking, the _Santa Quintero_ was to make port in Ensenada where it would be met by an envoy of the king. A detachment of elite soldiers would also board the ship. From there, they would sail to Acapulco and transport the cargo along the standard route by land to Veracruz under heavy guard. With Capitán Marquez being a remarkably skilled sailor, Javier always believed they couldn't have been far from Ensenada when it shipwrecked."

"What happened to change his mind?" Zorro inquired.

"You are very perceptive, Señor Zorro," Eva observed, and the fox momentarily regretted the question. The sergeant tilted his head curiously at the masked man. "On Javier's last trip to Ensenada, he visited the mission and read through the logs. The padres wrote of severe storms that battered the area in the early part of 1771. My husband realized if the _Quintero_ faced any delays crossing the Pacific Ocean, it would not have arrived until February or March of that year."

"So, Don Javier believed the storms threw the ship further off course than initially thought," Alejandro concluded, "and expanded his search area."

"Exactly," Eva nodded. "On his way back to San Rafael, my husband checked with several missions and learned the storms battered most of Southern California as well. Capitán Marquez was a very skilled sailor, but he was not familiar with the waters off California. He wasn't aware how treacherous the rocky coast was. Javier believed the _Quintero_ may have been as far north as San Diego when it sank."

"You mentioned a map earlier. Is that where it led to?" Zorro asked.

"I do not know," Eva answered dejectedly. "I only saw glimpses of it on a few occasions. My husband learned of the existence of a map to the treasure's location a little over a year ago. He was in San Miguel for their annual horse race when rumors began swirling that an old man living at the mission was one of two survivors of the _Quintero_ shipwreck."

Garcia's expression brightened, "There were two survivors?" Zorro grinned. The sergeant may have lost the desire to capture the bandit, but he obviously found a substitute for the two thousand peso reward.

Eva laughed softly at the soldier's reaction. "That was the rumor. Supposedly, when the ship crashed off the coast, Capitán Marquez and nearly two dozen men made it to land with the emperor's gold. They hid it for safety and went in search of the nearest settlement, only to be met by an Indian uprising. Rancheros in the area discovered two surviving men among the slaughtered remains of their crewmates. The padres at the local mission took them in and nursed them back to health."

"When they recovered, what stopped them from returning for the treasure?" Alejandro inquired with obvious skepticism.

"One man did, but he died in the process," Eva explained. "When the second man recuperated from his wounds, he was put under immense pressure from officials to reveal the treasure's location. He refused and disappeared into the night, fearing the _Quintero_'s cargo was cursed."

"Cursed?" Garcia gasped in panic, eyes wide as saucers. "It is cursed?" Zorro shook his head. That just put an end to the superstitious sergeant's new quest for riches.

"You do not believe in such things, Demetrio, do you?" Eva asked, mildly surprised at his response. The sergeant simply looked down, not meeting her eyes. She laughed softly. "It is all right, you do not need to be ashamed. Many men, particularly sailors, are apprehensive when it comes to talk of bad fortune."

"This lone survivor," Alejandro interrupted. "He is the one who drew the map?"

"I would presume so," Eva answered. "The old man did chores for the mission in return for food and board. It's said that when he took ill, he drew a map to the treasure as a way to thank the padres who were so kind to him over the years. He believed that God would protect the church from the evil curse."

"Let me guess," the fox sighed. "Someone stole the map from the church."

"Exactly, Señor Zorro," Eva confirmed.

"How did Don Javier come into ownership of it?" Alejandro inquired.

"My husband kept tabs on other men who held a serious interest in discovering the treasure," Eva replied. "When several of them turned up dead and others reported being robbed, Javier followed the trail and determined they were all attacked shortly after coming into possession of the map."

"It's the curse," Garcia whispered.

"Somehow, my husband managed to ascertain who held the map and lured him into a game of cards," Eva said softly. "It was the only time Javier ever won something of value. It was his most prized possession."

"Where is the map now?" Zorro asked.

"I am afraid I don't know," Eva admitted. "Javier suffered from mood swings; sometimes he would tell me all there was to know about the treasure, and other times he treated me as a sworn enemy. He never trusted me with the map. As I mentioned before, I only caught glimpses of it."

"Could it be hidden in your old hacienda or among his belongings?" Alejandro asked, suddenly showing great curiosity in the matter. Zorro grinned; even his father was coming under the spell of the treasure.

"I doubt it," Eva replied. "After Javier died and it came to light how much debt we were in, I searched everywhere in hopes of selling the map to save our hacienda. I knew where he kept the important papers and hid our valuables, but both hidden compartments were empty, save for a few pesos. When I sold his belongings, I checked every pocket of his clothes and the crevices of every object. There was nothing."

"Was your husband putting together a team to go after the treasure before he took ill?" Zorro inquired.

"Sí," Eva responded. "He always rounded up our vaqueros and servants to accompany him. If you are thinking one of them stole it, you are wrong, Señor Zorro. Javier was a cruel man who ruled with an iron fist; they would not dare cross him."

"Even if they knew Don Javier was dying and could not take retribution?" Zorro questioned gently.

"It's easy to tell you have never met him," Eva smiled sadly. "Most of them feared my husband would strike back from beyond the grave. The moment Javier took his last breath, they scattered as far as they could. I am positive no one at our rancho took it."

"Well, someone thinks you have it," Alejandro interjected.

Zorro narrowed his eyes, "Are you certain your attackers are after this map?"

"Sí," Eva said looking down, her shoulders slumping. "When the man attacked me in my room at the inn, he specifically demanded it. I had no idea what he was talking about. He had a knife to my throat and I couldn't think. It wasn't until later on that night that I understood he meant the _Santa Quintero_."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Garcia pleaded, kneeling down to face her.

"What good would it do?" Eva raised her head, her eyes glistening with tears in the moonlight. "I don't have it, therefore, how can I give it to him? I never imagined it would go this far."

"What are we going to do?" Garcia asked, looking to Zorro.

The fox folded his arms over his chest, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Now that we know what they are after, we can use it as leverage to draw them out."

"How?" Alejandro challenged. "Doña Eva doesn't have the map. If these animals have any sense, they would realize it. Everything she owns was destroyed in the fire they set!"

"We convince them that she does have it so they will attack once more," Zorro surmised. "Only this time, we'll be prepared for it."

Garcia shot to his feet, an indignant look on his face. "You want to use Eva as bait?"

Eva reached out and placed her hand on the sergeant's forearm, drawing his attention back to her. "It's all right, Demetrio, I want to do this. I do not want to spend the rest of my life living in fear."

Garcia studied her for a few moments before turning his attention back to the fox. His expression held a determination the masked man had not seen before in the soldier. "Do I have your word, Señor Zorro, that you will keep Eva safe?"

"I promise you, Sergeant," Zorro replied, deeply struck by Garcia's concern for Eva, "I will do my best to ensure no harm comes to the señora."

Garcia kept his eyes locked on the bandit for a long moment before looking at Eva. She smiled and gave him a reassuring nod, and the sergeant finally seemed placated. She turned eagerly to the fox. "What is the plan?"

Zorro smiled at her enthusiasm. "We arrange to have a delivery sent to you from San Rafael. These men have attacked when you were most vulnerable, so it's logical to conclude they have been watching you. The delivery should spark their interest. When they strike, I'll be waiting for them."

Garcia's brows furrowed. "How do we send something to Eva from San Rafael?"

"That is not a problem," Eva chimed in, eyes now sparkling impishly. "I did not travel to Los Angeles with all of my belongings. Once I was settled in at my bakery, I sent word to a friend in San Rafael to forward the remainder of my personal items. They should arrive in the next few days."

"I remember you mentioning that to me," Garcia mumbled.

"The winds are already shifting to our favor," Zorro grinned cunningly. "Sergeant Garcia, when the señora's items arrive, you make sure everyone in the plaza knows who they are meant for."

"Sí, I will do it," Garcia added, a tinge of reluctance in his tone.

"Sergeant Garcia." The sleepy voice of Corporal Reyes startled the meeting in the garden. Zorro ducked back into the shadows. "There you are, Sergeant. Do I have stand outside the gate all night? It's getting late and I'm hungry."

"You baboso," Garcia ordered. "You are to stand guard until you are relieved."

Zorro covered his mouth with a gloved hand and silently chuckled at the exchange between the two men. Leave it to the corporal's stomach to bring an end to their gathering. Carefully avoiding the servants and any lancers seeking to fill their empty bellies, the fox crept along the exterior of the hacienda and slipped into the sala where he entered the secret passage. He quickly changed clothes and returned to the garden.

"When Private Ortega comes to relieve you, Corporal, you can eat. Until then, get back out there," Garcia's booming voice echoed through the darkness.

"There you are," Diego exclaimed, nearly bumping into Reyes who was headed back to his post. "I step out to the stables for a moment to help with Princesa and I return to an empty sala." He stopped, cocked his head and gave the group a peculiar glare. "What is this? Some sort of clandestine meeting?"

"Oh, Don Diego," Garcia began excitedly, "you are never going to believe who was here!"


	8. Chapter VII

**The Curse of the Santa Quintero**

**Chapter VII**

"You are awfully cheerful this morning, Sergeant," Corporal Reyes observed entering the office.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Garcia asked, leaning back in his chair, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. "Not only did I have a wonderful supper last night with Eva and our friends, but I also came up with a plan to capture her attackers."

"You came up with a plan?" Reyes asked incredulously.

"Sí, I came up with a plan," Garcia said irritably, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. "Is that so hard to believe?" When the corporal started to open his mouth, Garcia cut him off. "Don't answer that."

"All right, Sergeant," Reyes replied. He set his rifle down and leaned forward, balancing his weight against it. "Are you sure it wasn't Don Diego who had the idea?"

"Of course I am sure," Garcia huffed. "Don Diego wasn't even there." The sergeant's eyes narrowed. He wasn't there, was he? It was very strange how his friend was not around when Zorro appeared, but arrived shortly after the fox left. He did that a lot. For a brief moment, Garcia wondered if they were ever seen together…

"If you say so, Sergeant."

"Sí, I say so, Corporal," Garcia nodded, his train of thought broken. "Now, what is it you want?"

"I don't want anything," Reyes responded.

Garcia tilted his head in confusion. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I came to tell you the stagecoach has arrived."

"Well, if you came to tell me…Oh, forget it," Garcia said, shaking his head as he stood behind the desk. He picked up his hat, crossed the room and opened the door. Turning to the lower ranking lancer, he wiggled his finger. "Come with me, Corporal."

Reyes followed the sergeant out of the office. "Are you going to tell me the plan?"

"No," Garcia replied simply.

"Why not?" Reyes asked with a hurt tone.

"Because you have a big mouth, Corporal."

"It's no bigger than your stomach," Reyes muttered.

"What did you say, Private?" Garcia demanded.

"Nothing, Commandante," Reyes wisely replied.

Garcia nodded his head in approval. The two men continued crossing the plaza in silence, coming to a stop near the stagecoach. "Hola, Pietro, where are the passengers?" he inquired, glancing around.

"There are no passengers today, Sergeant," Pietro answered. "If everyone keeps using their own horses and carriages, I will soon be out of business." He motioned to three trunks piled next to the coach. "I do have a delivery for Señora del Lugo."

"These must be her belongings from San Rafael," Garcia concluded, a twinge of worry setting in. "But they were not supposed to arrive for another few days."

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Do you want me to take them back and redeliver them next week?"

"There is no need to get grumpy with me just because you have a lack of passengers," Garcia chided the driver. "I will arrange to transport the luggage to the señora. She is staying at the de la Vega hacienda."

"That is fine by me," Pietro said. "If that is all, I will tend to my horses and be on my way."

Garcia signaled his approval and the driver disappeared around the corner on the way to the livery stable. "Go get the cart, Corporal, and my horse," he instructed. "I will wait here with the señora's luggage." Reyes returned to the cuartel without uttering any words of protest, leaving the sergeant praying that Zorro would learn of the delivery in time.

* * *

The steps outside the old deserted shack on the edge of some rich landowner's property didn't make for the most comfortable seating, but it afforded Silvio Salazar an unobstructed view of his compadres. The same two compadres who wanted to kill him.

Dropping the saddlebag draped over his shoulder, Silvio pulled twin pistols from the waistband of his trousers and plopped down on the wooden plank. He set the weapons down next to him, ready to grab at a second's notice. Reaching into the leather bag, he double checked his supply of gunpowder and lead balls. Growing up with Roland taught him one very important lesson – even if you're not expecting trouble, be prepared for it.

Carlos and Tacito were perched on the edge of a dried up well several yards away playing cards under the protective shade of a large mesquite tree. They had been at it for the better part of an hour, initially keeping their voices low and showing little enthusiasm for the game. Now, their rambunctious language broke the silence of the still afternoon air.

Silvio simply shook his head, continuing to keep an eye on his alleged compadres. Even if the two were preoccupied with cards, he wasn't about to let his guard down around a man who wanted to shoot him and a man who wanted to stake him to the desert so the vultures could eat his eyes.

"They are probably wagering their cuts of the treasure," Roland laughed, approaching his brother. He leaned against the wooden railing. "It's not like they having anything else of value to gamble with."

Silvio tilted his head upward, his eyes glinting with malice. "Who says they get a cut?" he asked in a hushed tone, motioning to the pistol at his left.

"You are learning," Roland grinned proudly, reaching over and patting the younger man on the shoulder. "Perhaps you are a Salazar after all. When this is all over, we should…"

The words trailed off and Silvio followed his brother's gaze to a trail of dust being kicked up in the distance. From the size and movement of the cloud, it appeared to be a lone rider at full gallop. Grabbing his pistols and saddlebag, he ducked into the shack and set up position behind one of the windows.

Roland yelled to the others before following him in, perching behind the window on the opposite side of the door, his dagger in one hand and a pistol in the other. Carlos and Tacito abandoned their game, drew their weapons and dropped for cover behind the stones of the well.

When the rider came to a halt several yards away and dismounted, Silvio took a deep breath and relaxed. He tucked the pistols back into his waistband and followed an irritated Roland outside.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" the older Salazar shouted. "We had a plan. You are supposed to stay in the plaza until one of us arrives to relieve you."

"I didn't think you'd want me to wait," Xavier replied with a smirk.

"Well?" Roland crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for an explanation. "This had better be good."

"Some trunks arrived from San Rafael for the del Lugo woman," Xavier gloated. "That fat sergeant is taking them to the de la Vega hacienda."

"Did you hear that, compadres?" Roland announced ecstatically. "If the señora didn't have the map before, she most certainly has it now. It's time to go get our treasure. Mount up!"

Once he secured his saddlebag and swung onto his horse, Silvio looked up at the sun and turned to the others. "Shouldn't we wait until it gets dark?" he inquired hesitantly.

"I'm done waiting," Roland answered. "We are getting that map one way or the other. If she won't hand it over willingly, I'll torture it out of her." A devilish grin formed on his lips as he unsheathed his dagger, flipped it in the air and deftly caught it.

The evil look was mirrored on the faces of Carlos, Tacito and Xavier. Silvio swallowed hard. He wanted the treasure just as much as the others, but the thought of slicing a woman into pieces turned his stomach.

"Do any of you know where the de la Vega hacienda is?" Carlos asked.

"I know the location," Tacito chimed in. "Follow me."

"Let's ride, hombres," Roland instructed and the group took off, stirring up a whirl of dust in their wake.

* * *

"Diego, where are you headed off to?" Alejandro asked, looking up from his seat at the patio table. His son was descending the stairs dressed in plain tan riding clothes instead of his usual, more ornate attire.

"I am going to pay a visit to Padre Felipe," Diego answered, sitting down opposite his father. "Perhaps he can provide some information to help us narrow down the location of the shipwreck."

"Don't tell me my sensible, bookish son is going off in search of buried treasure?" Alejandro grinned.

"If I recall correctly," Diego's eyes twinkled with amusement, "it was my skeptical father who had quite a change in attitude upon learning a map really does exist."

"I suppose I did," Alejandro laughed. "Growing up hearing tales of the _Santa Quintero_, the notion that the legend may be true is very exciting." He leaned back in his chair and sipped from his glass. "Why have you suddenly taken an interest in the location of the shipwreck?"

Diego glanced around the patio before leaning forward and lowering his voice. "These attacks on Doña Eva are all because her assailants believe she has this map. What if there are others out there who draw the same conclusion? The only way to ensure her safety is to find where the ship sank and either prove or disprove the existence of the treasure."

"I did not think of it that way," Alejandro said, his shoulders dropping. "Even if we do stumble upon a map, if it leads to a dead end, they may think the señora kept the real one."

"Exactly," Diego nodded. "During the early part of 1771, there were only two missions established in California; one in San Diego and the other in Monterey. If the _Santa Quintero_ did yield two survivors who were cared for by the Franciscan friars, it must have shipwrecked off the coast near one of those settlements. Monterey would be over five hundred miles off course, but with severe storms, it's possible. Since Padre Felipe spent considerable time in San Diego, perhaps he has heard anecdotes over the years that will help pinpoint the location."

Alejandro sighed. "If the church has kept quiet about the ship all this time, what makes you think Padre Felipe will be forthcoming with information? That's assuming he has something noteworthy to share."

"Because a woman's life may depend on it," Diego answered determinedly.

"I hope you are correct," Alejandro responded. "But is it wise for you to leave the rancho with Doña Eva's attackers still lurking about? You mentioned earlier this morning that Zorro found an abandoned camp last night that might have belonged to the men. Didn't tracks near the site match the horses that were in the pueblo the night the señora's bakery was burned down?"

"Sí, they rode to El Camino Real; from there it was impossible to follow them further. Since they are busy relocating to avoid detection, I don't foresee any problems. There are lancers stationed outside the hacienda and Bernardo will remain here," Diego replied. "Besides, I should be back by dusk."

"Good luck," Alejandro said, raising his glass to his son as he stood and walked to the gate. "Send my regards to Padre Felipe and let him know I shall visit him soon."

Diego nodded, gave a small salute and headed off to the stables. Alejandro set the glass down and leaned back into the chair. The buoyant atmosphere faded with his son's departure, replaced with the seriousness of the situation at hand. Creases of worry replaced the small smile on his lips. He prayed this dreaded affair would soon be over.

* * *

"Corporal, you stay out here with the luggage while I fetch someone from the hacienda," Garcia ordered once they arrived at the de la Vega rancho. Dismounting his horse, he tied the reins to the nearby hitching post and walked to the exterior wall's entrance, leaving Reyes in the driver's seat of the cart.

The sergeant nodded to Private Ortega who was stationed a few feet away, opened the gate and crossed the patio. He was about to knock on the dwelling's door when it suddenly opened and Eva appeared.

"Demetrio, I was not expecting you to visit so soon," she greeted with a warm smile.

"I do not understand it," he muttered, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. "Someone is always answering the door of this hacienda before I even knock. How can that be?"

"I don't know about the other occasions, but I saw you through the window," Eva laughed lightly. "Is that what you are here for? To inquire about the door?"

Garcia pressed his lips together sheepishly. "Actually, I am here on official duty," he announced, straightening his back and smoothing his uniform. "Your luggage arrived on the coach today."

"My belongings are finally here?" she asked, her green orbs lighting up with excitement. She looked impatiently around the patio before finally asking eagerly, "Where are they?"

"Outside," Garcia answered, happy to see Eva in such bright spirits after the loss of her bakery. Stepping aside, he pointed to the open gate. She picked up the front of her dress and sprinted to the cart.

The sergeant followed her out and was met with an empty driver's seat. He twisted his head and spotted Reyes chatting with Ortega. "Come on, Corporal," Garcia waved, "let's take these trunks to the señora's room." While climbing up the back of the cart, he was suddenly struck with inspiration. He stopped and crawled down. "You, too, Private," he instructed, trying to ignore Eva's amused expression.

Once the two lancers unloaded the first trunk under the supervision of the acting commandante, Garcia nodded satisfactorily and turned to Eva. "This way," she directed, before the sergeant even had a chance to ask her the question. She led them up the stairs and across the balcony to her room.

After the last trunk was deposited in Eva's quarters, Garcia ordered Private Ortega to return to guard duty outside the hacienda and sent Corporal Reyes back to the cuartel with the cart. Just as he was about to ask Eva if he could be of further assistance, she unexpectedly stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

"Gracias, Demetrio," she said softly and he blushed.

"Ahem."

The resonance of a throat being cleared behind him startled Garcia. Spinning around, he nearly knocked Eva over. He reached out to steady her, mumbling apologies, before facing the source of the sound.

Don Alejandro de la Vega stood in the doorway with narrowed eyes and a scowl on his lips.

"Buenos dias, Don Alejandro," Garcia mumbled. The temperature in the room abruptly raised twenty degrees and he knew his cheeks were no longer a mild pink, but a bright red. Beads of sweat formed along his hairline.

"Would you care to explain yourself, Sergeant?" the older don insisted.

"Well, um, Eva's…I mean to say Doña Eva's luggage arrived," he managed to stutter while tugging his collar, "and the lancers…the lancers and I were bringing it up."

"What lancers?" Alejandro questioned.

"These lancers," Garcia replied and moved to point out Reyes and Ortega. He resisted the urge to slap his forehead when he realized he already ordered them away. His eyes widened and he swallowed hard. Not only did the very proper and conservative don catch them kissing, they were alone in Eva's room when it happened! Could things get any worse today? He rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead anyway.

"I understand what it may have looked like, but nothing inappropriate happened, Don Alejandro," Eva chimed in, her cheeks also rosy in color. "As you can see, my luggage did arrive." She pointed to the trunks on the floor. "The sergeant sent away the lancers just moments ago. I believe Private Ortega is stationed outside if you would like to speak with him."

"Sí, he is," Garcia added, feeling faint. "He is outstairs…downside…I mean downstairs outside."

"Take a deep breath, Sergeant," Alejandro advised. "Do you need any help unpacking your things, Doña Eva? Cresencia has left for the pueblo, but I can find someone else if you desire."

"Gracias, Don Alejandro," Eva responded, "but I would like to attend to my belongings alone."

"Very well," the don bowed. He returned his attention to the soldier, "You can exhale now."

Garcia loudly released the breath he was holding.

"Why don't you join me downstairs in the sala for some refreshments, Sergeant?" Alejandro suggested. "You certainly look like you could use some."

"I'd, uh, like that," Garcia managed to reply, stunned by the unusual offer. He gazed at Eva, hoping for some sign of what to do, but she simply waved her hand for him to go. The older don was strangely composed and not nearly as angry as the sergeant expected considering the circumstances. It almost made him wish for the verbal tongue lashing.

Alejandro nodded and motioned him out the door. Garcia kept his head lowered and slowly led the way down the stairs, praying that one of the lancers would rush through the gate with an urgent matter to draw him away. Or maybe even Zorro would appear after learning Eva's belongings arrived.

When he was seated in the sala, clutching a glass of Madeira in his chubby fingers, Garcia realized no one was coming to his rescue. He didn't know what to say or how to react around Alejandro. If only Diego were here, he thought. Ah, yes, Diego! His friend would get him out of this mess.

"Gracias, Don Alejandro," he said, raising the glass and taking a sip. "Is Don Diego at home?"

"No, he rode out to see Padre Felipe about an hour ago," Alejandro answered.

The sergeant's shoulders slumped and he drank a large gulp of wine. For a fleeting second, he considered asking about Bernardo, but realized the little one would undoubtedly be with his master. No, he would have to face his punishment alone.

"You can relax, Sergeant," Alejandro advised. "I am not going to bite your head off."

"You aren't?" Garcia asked, his mood perking up.

"No, I'm not," the older don chuckled. "I ran into Corporal Reyes and Private Ortega on the patio. I know you and the señora were only alone for a few minutes, and it was just a peck on the cheek."

"Sí, that is all it was," Garcia happily agreed.

"I thought it would be a good opportunity to teach you and the señora a lesson about proper decorum," Alejandro smiled. "I hope it worked."

"Oh, it worked," Garcia sighed in relief. "I have learned my lesson, I think."

"I'm glad to hear that," the don replied, looking pleased with his little trick.

Seeing a more lighthearted side of the wealthy landowner put Garcia at ease and he leaned back in the chair. He couldn't recall ever spending much time alone with Alejandro. Outside of being invited to dinner parties, Diego was present during most of his contact with the older don.

For the first time, the sergeant noticed the similarities the father and son shared. When he wasn't fuming, Alejandro displayed a wry sense of humor and genuine compassion, and on rare occasions, Diego showed sparks of his father's fiery temper. Maybe they weren't so different after all.

Perhaps that was why Garcia suddenly developed the courage to start a conversation with the imposing figure sitting opposite him. "I was thinking about the treasure and how it was from China," he began, hoping he wasn't overstepping his boundaries.

"That seems to be the main topic of conversation around here lately," Alejandro quipped.

"Remember when you were in San Luis Rey a few months ago?" Garcia asked enthusiastically. "We had a real Chinese prince in Los Angeles!"

"Ah, yes, Diego told me about him," Alejandro recalled. "The poor boy was kidnapped and held for ransom. When the ship he was detained on docked in the harbor at San Pedro, he managed to escape."

"Sí, he should be back home by now," Garcia said, taking another sip of the red wine. "The treasure that was stolen probably belonged to his family," he added sadly. He thought of the young prince on the day he boarded the stagecoach bound for the ship home and laughed.

Alejandro looked at him strangely.

"Zorro saved him from one of the kidnappers," Garcia explained. "When the prince left our pueblo, he was all excited and making a 'Z' with his finger in the air," he paused to demonstrate. "They probably know about the fox all the way in China!"

"That is an intriguing thought, Sergeant," the don replied.

Garcia tilted his head curiously at the other man. He wasn't surprised by the amused expression or smile on Alejandro's features, but he wasn't expecting the trace of…pride? Yes, it was definitely pride. Why would Don Alejandro de la Vega be proud of Zorro?

That silly idea found its way back into his head and he pushed it away. "Speaking of Zorro," Garcia said, biting his lower lip, "Do you think he knows Doña Eva's belongings arrived ahead of schedule?"

"I am sure he will know soon enough," Alejandro answered, his cheerfulness fading into concern. "That is, of course, if he doesn't already know."

Garcia couldn't explain why, but that answer sent shivers up his spine.

* * *

Eva knelt down and unlocked the lid of the nearest trunk. Lifting it up, she peered at the colorful fabrics and ran her fingers over the soft garments. She pulled out the dark blue dress on top and nuzzled her face in the silk. Standing, she set the item carefully on the bed and smoothed out the wrinkles.

It belonged to _her_.

After losing just about everything she owned, Eva relished the feeling of having something that was hers and hers alone. The de la Vegas purchased everything she needed, but none of those items truly felt like they belonged to her. She continued pulling out the dresses, all made of colorful silk, and placing them on the bed. When the first trunk was empty, she moved to the second.

Opening the lid, Eva found her heavier clothes, those meant for the winter. The wool fabric was not as soft or smooth as the silk, but it felt so good under her fingers. She pulled out the dresses one by one, but instead of laying them on the bed, she tenderly hung them in the wardrobe.

Moving on to the third and last trunk, she found her undergarments. Inspecting each item upon pulling it out, Eva carefully refolded the linen articles and placed them in the bureau drawers. The last pieces to go in the drawers were her handkerchiefs.

At the bottom of the trunk lay her personal mementos. Tears formed in her eyes as she picked up the small doll that her daughter used to cling to. Javier brought it back from his travels and Verónica treasured the gift from her father, rarely letting go of it. Eva clutched it to her chest as she picked up the cameo that belonged to her mother.

She set the cameo down and picked up the wooden cup and ball Rafi used to play with. She longed for the days when her son would play with toys instead of swords. Eva grinned and tried to get the cup on the ball, but failed with a laugh.

She set the toy back in the trunk, along with the doll, and gently removed the bible. It had belonged to her mother, her grandmother and her grandmother's mother. Eva fought back tears; it would never be passed to her daughter. The leather was worn and the corners bent from the years of use. She cautiously opened the cover, mindful of the fragile pages that had yellowed with age.

Delicately leafing through the book, she narrowed her eyes at a small piece of paper sticking out the back. While the pages were brittle, they were not torn, and the color didn't quite match. Eva opened the bible up to that section and found a piece of folded paper tucked among the pages.

Her eyes widened in shock as she unfolded the thick piece of parchment. Eva snickered. All this time, and it was safely among her belongings. She had to give Javier credit. He could not have picked a better spot to hide his cherished prize. Eva began laughing hysterically, not sure what else to do.

There in her hands was the map to the _Santa Quintero_'s treasure.

When her composure returned, she stared at the crude drawing. Javier had shared with her enough about the treasure that Eva could make out the landmarks and coastline. She would be able to find the treasure if she wanted. It would be a way to rebuild the bakery and purchase new supplies.

There were also many fortune hunters out there that would pay any price for the map. Wasn't that why she searched the hacienda and all of Javier's belongings? Selling the map was the means to an end; a way to finance her new life, doing what she loved. So why did it suddenly feel so wrong?

Images of a knife being held to her throat and a fire closing in around her flashed in Eva's mind. She swallowed hard. The only reason she was alive right now was because of Demetrio. It was the sergeant that saved her and who cared about her welfare. She trusted him; she trusted his – their – friends.

Eva knew what she had to do.

* * *

"That rascal managed to get away again," Garcia lamented to Alejandro. "He is a tricky one." The sergeant was finishing his tale of how he nearly captured Zorro when Eva entered the sala.

"Demetrio, I am so glad you are still here," she said, approaching the men.

"Is everything all right?" the sergeant asked, setting his glass down and rising from his seat.

"Sí, everything is better than all right," Eva replied. She looked around the room, her eyes falling on the desk. She unfolded the piece of parchment in her hand and flattened it out on the smooth writing surface. "Please, I have something to show both of you," she said, motioning for them to join her.

Garcia and Alejandro exchanged curious looks before moving to stand by the señora.

"It's the map," Garcia whispered with wide eyes and raised brows.

"Where ever did you find it?" Alejandro inquired with apprehension.

"I thought all of this time that my husband didn't trust me," Eva smiled sadly. "It turns out that he did, in his own way. The map was hidden amongst my belongings."

"You shouldn't be touching it," Garcia advised, his voice trembling slightly. "What if it really is cursed?"

"I do not believe in such things," she stated adamantly.

Alejandro leaned in closer, studying the drawing. "This is the California coast," he said, tracing the line with his finger. "Here is Coronado and this is San Diego Bay."

"Sí, Don Alejandro," Eva confirmed. "This mark here is La Playa on the peninsula. If this star indicates the location of the treasure, it is hidden in Point Loma. A storm must have swept the _Santa Quintero_ into the rocks off the coast of Coronado and this is where the survivors washed ashore."

"I don't believe it," Alejandro muttered, leaning on the desk. "Point Loma is only a few miles from La Playa, the main port for San Diego. Do you realize that for fifty years, ships have been passing by that location on the way to the harbor, and no one was the wiser?

Garcia bent forward, careful not to touch the paper. "I do not understand," he pondered aloud. "The map was supposed to show you where the treasure was. How can this be of any help? I have been on military maneuvers in this area; there are lots of rocky places along the coast where it could be hidden."

"My husband began his search in Ensenada," Eva clarified. "He explored the coast of Baja California for years before he considered the possibility the _Quintero_ may have sank in Alta California waters. This is the type of information treasure hunters would die for."

"Please don't say that Eva," Garcia pleaded, the color draining from his face. "There are already men out there who want to kill you for this," he pointed to the map. "You don't need to talk about death."

"I am sorry, Demetrio," she said softly. "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. We shall not talk of such unpleasant matters any further."

"Gracias," Garcia smiled sheepishly. "I just do not like…"

"Shh," Alejandro hushed, holding a finger up to his lips. "Did you hear that?" he whispered.

"I did not hear anything," Garcia replied, keeping his voice low. "It is probably just Private Ortega looking for something to eat, or hoping he can go back to the cuartel."

Alejandro stiffened, "There is someone on the patio." He grabbed the map and shoved it in a drawer.

Before Garcia even knew what was happening, the door smashed open and the window nearest him shattered. Armed gunmen burst into the sala. The sergeant positioned himself between Eva and the bandits, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Buenos dias, Señora del Lugo," one of the men greeted, approaching them with a dagger in one hand and a pistol in the other. "Where is my map?"

"It's the curse," Garcia mumbled in fear.


	9. Chapter VIII

**The Curse of the Santa Quintero**

**Chapter VIII**

Sergeant Garcia swallowed hard as the apparent leader of the bandits came to a stop in front of him and shoved the pistol into his belly. He straightened his back and held his ground in hopes of shielding Eva from any threats.

"We have a noble soldier of the King's Army in our midst," the intruder announced with an evil grin. The other three armed bandits snickered and spread out across the sala. "It is rather commendable to protect the señora, but you must ask yourself, Sergeant, is she worth dying for?"

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" Alejandro demanded.

"It is none of your business, old man," he spat. "Carlos, watch him." The bandit answering to that name roughly pushed the don into a nearby chair and held a pistol to his head.

Garcia tried to ignore the pounding in his chest and the fear that gripped his heart. Feeling Eva placing her hands on his back gave him a boost of courage. "What have you done with my lancers?" he asked, grateful his voice didn't tremble.

"They have been taken care of."

The image of his lancers lying dead somewhere triggered a wave of anger in the sergeant and he started to move forward, but Eva moved her hands to his arms. "No, Demetrio. I am not worth it."

"Listen to your lady friend."

He stared down at the pistol pointed at his belly. They were helpless. Garcia knew he was no match for the four armed bandits, and neither was Alejandro, although the older don would probably never admit it. Their only hope for survival was Zorro…

"Xavier, Tacito, take care of our fat friend."

"Sí, Roland," they replied in unison.

The two bandits grabbed the sergeant's arms and shoved him to the side of the room, confiscating his sword along the way. When Roland moved closer to Eva, Garcia struggled against them and the hilt of the weapon was thrust into his belly, causing him to groan in pain.

"No!" Eva cried.

Roland shoved her back into the desk. "I am tired of playing games with you, Señora. If you cooperate, my compadres and I have no reason to further harm your friends." He raised his dagger to her face.

Garcia gulped at the action, exchanging a worried glance with Alejandro who sat across the room. From his position in the sala, he could only see Eva's right side, and the dagger was held to her left. A wave of panic consumed him at not knowing how close the blade was to her skin.

Eva suddenly flinched.

Alejandro leapt forward, "You bastard!" Carlos struck him on the back of the head with the butt of the pistol, sending the don to the floor where he rubbed the tender spot of impact. The bandit grabbed him and pushed him back into the chair.

Eva turned terrified eyes to Garcia. It was then he saw the trickle of blood on her ear. Rage filled him, but with Xavier and Tacito aiming weapons at him, there was nothing he could do.

"Hey, Roland, the hacienda is empty," another bandit declared entering the sala.

"Hmm, that's interesting," Roland replied. "One would expect the home of a wealthy landowner to be bustling with servants. So, Don Alejandro, where is everyone?"

Alejandro folded his arms over his chest defiantly and remained quiet.

"You want to play games, too?" Roland grinned devilishly. "Well, let me explain the rules then. When I ask a question, you will answer it. If you don't play along nicely, it will be the pretty señora who suffers the consequences." He held up his dagger for emphasis.

Alejandro narrowed his eyes before finally relenting. "My vaqueros are busy with the cattle and the land. They will be out there until dusk. As for the hacienda, once the servants are finished with their tasks for the day, they are free to leave."

"What about supper?" Roland inquired. "Surely, you plan to eat later. Where is your cook?"

"My cook and housekeeper are attending to some errands in the pueblo," he answered. "It will be some time before they return to prepare the evening meal."

"For your sake, I hope you are telling the truth," Roland smirked. "The next person who walks through that gate is going to die and I'd hate for you to feel such guilt, since your lies will cause their death."

Garcia lowered his head. Diego and Bernardo were at the mission. What if his friends return home?

"Now, Señora," Roland said, returning his attention to Eva. "Must I continue to mar your lovely face or are you going to tell me where my map is?"

Eva closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's in the drawer."

Roland tucked his pistol into the waistband of his trousers, pushed Eva aside and opened the desk drawer. A satisfied smile formed on his lips as he pulled the rumpled piece of paper out. Still holding the dagger in one hand, he flattened the parchment out, just as Eva did minutes earlier. "Is this the map, Silvio?"

The other bandit came over to the desk and looked at it closely. "I think so."

"What do you mean, _you think so_?" Roland scoffed. "Is this or is this not the map you possessed?"

"I only had it for a little over a day before Don Javier won it," Silvio replied. "It looks a lot like it. There were no names or descriptions, just lines and marks like these," he pointed out. He studied it some more before finally proclaiming, "Sí, this is the same map."

"You had better be right about this, brother," Roland warned.

"I am positive I'm right," Silvio stated with confidence.

"So, where is the treasure?" Carlos asked impatiently.

"I'm not sure yet," Roland responded, his brow furrowing as he studied the crude plotting. "We have to decipher the drawing first." He turned to his brother. "Can you make heads or tails of this?"

"Not exactly," Silvio answered, rotating the piece of paper diagonally. "If this area here is a sliver of land, it must be Baja California, so either this star or this 'x' marks where the treasure is."

Garcia wanted to laugh. They couldn't read the map!

Eva and Alejandro made it look so easy earlier. Eva knew more about the _Santa Quintero_ than just about anyone, thanks to her husband's obsession, so it was only natural that she could read it. When it came to Alejandro, not only did he have excellent first hand knowledge of the land, but he was also well educated and probably had books full of maps in his library. The sergeant was sure Diego would also be able to read the map with little trouble.

How many men held that very piece of paper in their hands but didn't know what to do with it? Garcia reluctantly admitted to himself it was unlikely he would fare any better than the bandits. Even with all of his military training and years of deciphering maps, he didn't know it was Point Loma right away. It was only after Eva and Alejandro began discussing the area that he recognized it.

"If this is Baja California, then this star would indicate Cabo San Lucas," Roland observed.

"Sí, and this 'x' is probably Mazatlán on the Mexican coast," Silvio explained further.

"No, something isn't right," Roland said, shaking his head. "This doesn't look anything like Mexico. If the rumors are true, and the _Santa Quintero_ was headed for Ensenada, it would mean the ship was over a thousand miles off course. The same could be said even if it was bound for Acapulco."

"A bad storm can throw a ship way off course," the bandit to Garcia's right reasoned.

"No, Tacito," Roland admonished. "The capitán and his crew were said to be highly experienced. Even a huracán would not throw their navigation off that much. We are looking at this all wrong."

"Tacito, watch de la Vega for me," Carlos instructed. "I want to take a look at the map." When the other bandit took his place, he leaned over the desk and crooked his head. "This looks like the head of a dog."

"A dog? Where do you see a dog?" Silvio asked incredulously.

"I did not say a dog, you idiot," Carlos spat. "I said the head of a dog."

Garcia bit his lip to keep from smiling. For the first time since the bandits raided the hacienda, there was a glimmer of hope. The longer they bickered over the map, the more likely it was that Zorro would find them. The fox vowed to watch over Eva, so he had to be close. They just needed to stall for time.

He glanced over to Eva, whose eyes were sparkling with amusement at their captor's confusion. The same look was reflected on Alejandro's features. They were all thinking the same thing.

"Both of you shut up!" Roland hollered. Seething, he twisted to face Eva, who did not lose the amused expression from her face fast enough. He reached out, clutched her throat with one hand and heaved her into the desk. "Do you think this is funny, Señora?"

"Stop it," Garcia pleaded.

"Unhand her, you fiend," Alejandro commanded.

Gasping for breath, she reached up, trying to pry his hand away. Roland's eyes narrowed. "You know where the map points to, don't you?" He spun around, dragging Eva by her throat and threw her to the floor. "This ends now."

Roland pulled his pistol from his waistband and pressed the mouth of the barrel to Garcia's head. The sergeant closed his eyes, fearing his impending death, and heard Eva scream.

* * *

While browsing the volumes neatly arranged in the bookcase, Diego paused and chuckled. What was it about shipwrecks lately that was so alluring? He pulled _Robinson Crusoe_ from its spot on the shelf and began flipping through the pages. Sliding the book back in its place, a German title caught his eye.

Picking it up, Diego snorted. He remembered reading the story while at the university in Madrid. The good padre certainly enjoyed rousing tales of adventure. As he was about to open the cover of Johann David Wyss' _Der Schweizerische Robinson_, soft footsteps from behind drew his attention.

"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, Diego," Padre Felipe greeted upon entering his office.

"It's no trouble," Diego replied, returning the book to its place on the shelf.

The padre motioned for the young don to take a seat at the small sitting area in the corner of the room. "What brings you to the mission today?" he asked once they were both settled in.

"I'm here to inquire about the _Santa Quintero_," Diego responded with a wry grin.

Padre Felipe's eyes widened in astonishment and he leaned back in the chair, studying his guest. "How exactly did the _Santa Quintero_ capture the fancy of the normally sensible Diego de la Vega?" His gaze wandered from the young man sitting opposite him to the bookcase. "Has my taste in literature inspired you to set off on your own adventure?" he added with obvious delight.

"I wish it were that simple," Diego remarked.

"Now you have me most curious," the padre replied, bending forward in the chair. "I would never have expected you to fall under the spell of the lost treasure."

"It's not the treasure I am interested in," Diego said, his voice turning serious. "My father and I are afraid the attacks on Señora Eva del Lugo may have a connection to the ship."

"It's dreadful what she has endured since arriving in our pueblo," the padre responded. "But how does that tie into the _Quintero_?" His eyes narrowed. "Wait, I think I am beginning to understand. This has something to do with her late husband's interest in finding the ship's treasure, doesn't it?"

"It would appear that is the case," Diego confirmed, encouraged by the padre's knowledge of the matter. "So you were acquainted with Don Javier del Lugo and his pursuits?"

"You could phrase it that way," the padre replied. "I was at the Mission San Diego de Alcalá during one of his visits a few years ago. The man was…difficult at best. Our paths seldom crossed, but he was not a man to be forgotten."

Diego smiled and nodded in understanding; Padre Felipe would make an excellent diplomat. "Not long before he died, Don Javier came into possession of a map that was supposedly drawn by the _Quintero_'s last surviving crew member. It's now missing, leaving Doña Eva the only link to it. We are concerned that unless this map resurfaces, or the treasure is found, she may never be safe."

"Hernán meant well," Padre Felipe sighed, "but he should never have drawn that map."

"You knew this man?" Diego asked incredulously.

"Don't look so surprised, my boy," the padre chuckled, clearly amused by the young don's reaction. "I came to know Hernán during my visits to the Mission San Miguel Arcángel. He appeared there shortly after it was founded in 1797 and remained up until his death, performing various chores in exchange for food and board. When he took ill, he confessed to Padre Simeon that he was a crew member aboard the _Santa Quintero_ and helped hide the treasure. He wanted to repay the church for all it had done for him, including tending to his wounds as a young man in San Diego, so he drew the map."

"Would there be any reason to doubt his story?" Diego inquired cautiously.

"I will admit to also being a little skeptical upon hearing the news," Padre Felipe divulged, "but Hernán was a humble man with a kind and gentle soul. He believed it to be true. I have no reason to doubt him."

The caballero leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looked at Padre Felipe. "If the _Santa Quintero_ did shipwreck off the coast of San Diego, why didn't Don Javier discover any record of it, or Hernán, in the mission's logs? According to Doña Eva, her husband was a thorough researcher."

"There was nothing for him to find," the padre stated simply. "Are you forgetting your history, Diego?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "In November of 1775, the natives attacked the mission, looting the supplies and burning the buildings to the ground. All of the logs and records were lost in the blaze."

"I had forgotten about that," Diego replied sheepishly. Settling back into the chair, he rested his elbows on the arms of the furniture. "I'm beginning to see why the location has remained such a mystery. In an odd way, everything was working in its favor."

"I don't quite follow you," Padre Felipe said.

"Only the crew and a few high ranking officials were aware of the nature of the ship's cargo. Outside of Hernán and his shipmate, no one even knew if that cargo made it to land." Diego's brow crinkled as he considered the various pieces of the puzzle.

Voicing his thoughts as much to himself as to the padre, he continued. "When Spain learned of the _Santa Quintero_'s fate, they were able to find Hernán through the presidio's report detailing the discovery of the sailors. When confronted, Hernán disappeared and efforts to recover the cargo were abandoned. Given it was a secret mission, it would not be surprising to learn the garrison's records were destroyed to maintain that secrecy. Bearing in mind it was unlikely the local residents even knew the name of the vessel, by the time word got out of a lost treasure, fortune hunters had no way of knowing the ship sank off the coast of San Diego. They naturally began searching near Acapulco – the established port of the Manila galleons."

"You are rather well versed in the subject for someone who hasn't fallen under the spell," Padre Felipe joked. "Perhaps I should worry about your intentions regarding the _Quintero_."

"I assure you, Padre, my intentions are honorable," Diego laughed softly. "I have an excellent teacher in Doña Eva. She is every bit as much an expert on the matter as her husband, perhaps even more so since her judgment is not clouded by obsession."

"I only wish I could be of more assistance for her sake," Padre Felipe sighed. "My knowledge of the ship is limited mostly to the various stories I've heard over the years."

"You have been a great help by confirming Don Javier was on the right track," Diego assured him. "We now have a starting location to find the treasure."

"Perhaps you can answer a question for me, Diego," he replied. "If the _Santa Quintero_ was hauling trade items intended for Spain, most of the cargo would never have survived the battering waves that destroyed the ship. What do the fortune hunters expect to find?"

Diego grinned mischievously. "If the legend is accurate, the capitán and his crew plundered a fortune in gold, silver and gemstones from the Emperor of China."

Padre Felipe's eyes widened in awe before he finally shook his head. "I'm beginning to comprehend the temptation, but such ill gotten gains will only bring out the worst in men."

* * *

"No!" Eva screamed. "Don't hurt him, please don't hurt him." Tears streamed down her face as she crawled to her knees, pleading for the sergeant's life. "The treasure is in Point Loma."

Roland lowered the pistol and Alejandro breathed a heavy sigh of relief. For one very long and intense moment, the don feared he would witness Sergeant Garcia die before his eyes, while he sat there utterly helpless. He watched as Garcia slowly opened his eyelids, the look of terror still etched on his features.

Alejandro fought to suppress another wave of rage as Roland stepped over to Eva, grabbed her arm and roughly pulled the señora to her feet. "Explain it now," he ordered, shoving her to the desk where Silvio and Carlos stood.

Eva reached out carefully, turning to Roland for permission to touch the map. He nodded and she rotated the piece of paper a partial turn. "This line is the California coast near San Diego," she said softly. "Over here is the peninsula with La Playa, this is San Diego Bay and this section is Coronado. The star indicates Point Loma. That is where I believe the treasure to be hidden."

Silvio leaned in closer and pointed to a spot on the map. "If the star is the treasure, then what does the 'x' stand for?" he asked distrustfully.

"This line here," she traced her finger over it, "is El Camino Real. That mark is not an 'x', it is a cross representing the Mission San Diego de Alcalá."

"Very good, Señora," Roland grinned. "It's time to go get our treasure compadres."

"What if this is some kind of trick?" Xavier interposed. "Your idiot brother doesn't even know if that is the correct map. How do we know she is telling the truth?"

"It's the correct map," Silvio muttered.

"We don't," Roland answered. He touched Eva's cheek and ran his finger along the thin cut that was still faintly visible on her jaw. "That is why the pretty señora will be accompanying us on our excursion."

"No," Garcia gasped.

"Do not worry, Sergeant, you will be joining us, too," Roland smirked.

"Why are we taking the fat soldier with?" Silvio asked with irritation.

"Because the señora is sweet on him," Roland replied, as if speaking to a child. "You witnessed how she reacted when I put a pistol to his head. She is rather cooperative in his presence."

"What about de la Vega?" Tacito asked.

"He is going to get us a wagon and supplies," Roland replied. "Tacito, go to the kitchen and scrounge up some food for tonight. The rest of you stay here and keep an eye on the lovebirds while I escort our host to the stables." He walked over to Alejandro, sheathed his dagger and drew his pistol. "Get up."

Alejandro stood, ignoring the dull throbbing at the base of his skull. He narrowed his eyes at his captor in a weak act of defiance and exchanged an uneasy glance with Garcia and Eva before heading out the front door of his hacienda.

While they walked to the stables, the don sent a silent prayer to God that the mozo de caballos were out with the vaqueros. Teo and Rubén were not much more than children, but were eager to do more than simply tend to the horses. Benito finally gave in a few days ago and let them ride along while rounding up the cattle. Hopefully, the young men's enthusiasm didn't wane with the hard work.

When the two men arrived at the stables, Alejandro let out a small sigh of relief to find the structure was void of ranch hands, but the feeling was short lived. His heart dropped when he spotted Bernardo's horse in the far stall. If the mute did not ride to the mission to alert Diego of the intruders, then where was he? And if his son was still at the mission, it meant Zorro would not be riding to their rescue…

"What are you waiting for?" Roland demanded. "That wagon over there looks good. Load it up and use your best horses. Get to work."

Alejandro turned to look at the bandit. Roland had the dagger in his hand again, having stuck the pistol back into the waistband of his trousers. For a brief moment, the don considered taking his chances and going for the knife, but the desperado was twenty years younger. So instead of taking action, Alejandro decided to take a cue from his son. If Diego could play the part of a lazy caballero, he could surely play the part of a pompous haciendado to buy them some time.

The landowner got to work by muttering a few oaths under his breath about having to do such menial labor that was unbefitting to a man of his stature. Dragging the wagon out, he did his best to struggle with the task. While bending to pick up a nearby coil of rope, he felt the point a blade shoved in his back.

"Do you think I am stupid, old man?" Roland hissed, grabbing the don's shoulder. "I know exactly what you are doing. It is well known in California that Don Alejandro de la Vega is not afraid of hard work. From this moment on, I will make a cut in the señora's flesh for every five minutes it takes you to finish."

The bandit stepped back and leaned against a post. "You had better get going, the clock is ticking."

Alejandro wasted no time. He threw the rope in his hands onto the back of the wagon and gathered up any nearby tool. Shovels, pickaxes and hammers were all tossed next to the rope. The don then ran to the two nearest horses, strapped on their harnesses, moved the animals out to an open area of the stable and pushed the wagon up behind them.

"Those mares had better be of good quality," Roland said sarcastically.

"All of my horses are of the finest quality," Alejandro retorted, not bothering to hide his irritation at the obvious insult. The oaths he now muttered were not an act.

He continued quickly working to hitch the mares to the wagon, noticing from the corner of his eye that Roland did not have a pocket watch. The realization made the don sick to his stomach. It didn't matter how fast he was, that bastard was going to drag that damn blade against Eva's skin again.

As he finished fastening the last straps, Alejandro heard footsteps from behind. He knew immediately the stride was not that of his son. Diego was never ungainly; he could not be even if he tried.

"I've got some food," Tacito announced.

"Good," Roland replied. "Set the baskets in the back of the wagon. The old man is done. Check that the straps are tight and guide the horses around to the front of the gate. We will meet you out there."

Roland walked over to the elder de la Vega, grabbed his arm and stuck the dagger into his back again. As he was being led away to the hacienda, Alejandro saw that Tacito had two large baskets filled with food. He shook his head in disgust.

"A man with so much," Roland observed, "and you begrudge us a little food. Maybe you are not the noble haciendado that everyone proclaims you to be."

"I would never turn away a hungry mouth," Alejandro hissed, "but I draw the line at intruders who break into my home and assault my friends. Men like you can rot in hell."

Roland only laughed, seemingly finding amusement in the conversation. This unnerved Alejandro and he was relieved when they reached the sala. Eva and Garcia were now seated by the desk. Silvio, Carlos and Xavier kept watch on them and the entrances to the room.

"Are we ready to go?" Silvio asked upon seeing them.

"Sí," Roland answered, shoving Alejandro into a chair.

Carlos pointed to the don, "What about him?"

"He is of no use to us anymore," Roland grinned. "We will kill him."

"I have a better idea," Silvio chimed in.

"What would that be?" Xavier sneered. "Do you want to lose him in a game of cards, too?"

"No, you idiot," Silvio spat. "But he is worth some money."

"How?" Xavier questioned.

"Don't you remember what my brother said earlier? Don Alejandro is one of the wealthiest landowners in California," Silvio began explaining.

"What good does that do us?" Xavier replied. "I don't want any land and we will all be rich once we find the treasure. It will be more fun to kill him."

"But it might take us awhile to locate and haul away," Silvio reasoned, "and we don't know exactly what we will find. We can ransom de la Vega off for a few hundred pesos, maybe even a thousand. His son is a coward; he will pay anything we ask and won't put up a fight. When he arrives with the money, we kill them both."

"You have an excellent point there, brother," Roland said. "His son is the tall one who has been hanging around the señora's bakery who wears fancy clothes and doesn't carry a sword." He turned to Alejandro. "That brings up a good question. Where is your son?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Alejandro spat, doing his best to sound disillusioned with his child. As much as it angered him to hear these intruders call Diego a coward, he took satisfaction in knowing the desperados didn't know who they were dealing with. "He does not tell me where he goes or what he does. He is probably lounging by a lake reading a book, if he hasn't fallen asleep! How anyone can become so tired from reading is beyond me."

Garcia gave him a strange look and Alejandro hoped the sergeant would keep his big mouth shut. Both the lancer and Eva knew Diego was at the mission, but he would never reveal that to these bandits. He also hoped the pretense would draw Roland's attention away from Eva.

"Maybe the son would be happy for his old man to kick the bucket," Carlos laughed. "He might even pay us to kill him, since he doesn't have the nerve to do the deed himself."

"The joking aside, Silvio has a good idea," Roland remarked, patting the younger man on the back. "We should easily be able to get one thousand pesos for de la Vega."

"Why just one thousand?" Xavier interjected. "That bandit Zorro has a two thousand peso reward for his capture, dead or alive. A father should be worth more to his son than a lowly outlaw."

"Good thinking, Xavier," Carlos asked. "But twenty-five hundred pesos are being offered in Mexico for El Cuchillo. That means we should be able to get at least three thousand out of young de la Vega."

"We will discuss the final amount later and get someone in the next town to deliver the ransom note to the hacienda," Roland ordered. "Right now, it is time for us to leave. Oh, and I almost forgot." He grabbed Eva's wrist and sliced the outer edge of her left hand with his dagger.

She cried out in pain and Garcia leapt up in outrage, but the three pistols aimed at his face forced him to sit back down. Eva pressed the bandage wrapped around the burn on her other hand to the bleeding gash to stop the flow of blood. Alejandro lowered his head in disgrace. It was his fault.

"That is for your act of disobedience, old man," Roland grinned. "Toss her your handkerchief."

The don did as ordered, only raising his head long enough to silently apologize to Eva. She smiled softly, and looked at him with kind eyes, but the gesture only made Alejandro feel worse. When the señora was finished tying the piece of cloth around her hand, Roland snatched the map off the desk and motioned for them to stand up.

Alejandro, Eva and Garcia were herded out the door of the hacienda, across the patio and through the gate to where Tacito stood with the horses and wagon. Carlos grabbed a coil of rope from his saddle horn and moved to tie the prisoners' hands when Roland stopped him.

"While we will stay off the main roads, it's still daylight and there is no telling who we may run across. It will not raise any suspicions if the sergeant and de la Vega are riding along, with the señora up front in the wagon," Roland explained.

Silvio took Eva by the elbow and directed her to the passenger side of the wagon, displaying considerable more regard for Spanish womanhood than his brother. She clambered up without assistance.

"Sergeant Garcia, mount up on your horse. Don Alejandro, you will ride mine. If either of you tries to escape, remember that we will not hesitate to shoot you in the back," Roland instructed. "The lovely Señora del Lugo will also pay a price for such defiance."

Once they were all in their saddles, Roland nodded approvingly and climbed up next to Eva. He cracked the whip to urge the horses forward and the group set off in search of the _Santa Quintero_'s treasure.


	10. Chapter IX

**The Curse of the Santa Quintero**

**Chapter IX**

Bernardo closed the spy hole in the wall of the sala and ran through the secret passages up to Diego's room. He overheard most of the exchange and knew the fortune hunters were heading south to Point Loma, but what route would they take? It was highly unlikely they would use El Camino Real; there were too many travelers on the main highway and they needed to avoid attention.

That left the many smaller roads. The ones that sprang immediately to Bernardo's mind were the old mining and logging trails that ran along the mountains east of Los Angeles, and the old trade routes that stretched along the coastline to the west. While not necessarily in the best physical condition, they were still smooth enough for a wagon to traverse.

The mute pursed his lips together, trying to fight off the wave of worry that ate at him. If Diego did not arrive home soon, it might take Zorro and Tornado all night to cover the distance between the coast and the mountains – time they did not have. Those men were ruthless and would not hesitate to kill.

That was the reason he didn't try to take action against them. The opportunity was there when they split up. It would have been easy to hit Tacito on the head and tie him up, but Roland was a different matter. His volatile disposition was dangerous. He had the look of a rabid animal in his eyes instead of that of a human being.

Bernardo couldn't risk dropping a clay pot on him from above when they were leaving the hacienda; the noise would have alerted the other bandits. And the mute did not have the graceful steps of Diego; he would never have been able to sneak up on the man in the stables. He wasn't even sure he could win a hand-to-hand fight with the man if it came to that.

Any action he took would put Alejandro's life into even greater jeopardy. If the bandits in the hacienda grew suspicious, Eva and Sergeant Garcia were as good as dead. The manservant had to wait for Diego. Zorro was the only one who stood a chance of successfully rescuing the three.

Bernardo peered through the spy hole to make sure Diego's room was empty. He entered it and quickly headed to the door. Carefully cracking it open, he snuck out onto the terrace. The gate was left open, allowing him a partial view of the activities outside. When the group rode off, the normally adept mute just stood there not knowing what to do.

Should he ride and alert Diego or follow the gang? There were also the lancers to consider. Bernardo heard the commotion when the bandits first arrived and witnessed Silvio knocking out Private Ortega and dragging him off. He was certain they were all alive, but that didn't mean he shouldn't search for them to make sure they were okay.

For a fleeting moment, Bernardo almost felt like he was playing God; deciding who lives and who dies. The feeling sent a cold shiver up his spine and he shuddered. Taking a deep breath, he made a choice.

* * *

As the group continued riding west, Sergeant Garcia shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. They were still several miles away from the coast, but the tinge of salt was becoming detectible in the dry, dusty air. The scent invading his nostrils combined with thoughts of the ocean's waves and the sergeant began feeling queasy to his stomach. Not only were they dealing with a curse and heading to their deaths, but he just had to become seasick as well!

All of a sudden, the gentle sway of his horse's trot was eerily similar to that of a rocking boat. Garcia felt his stomach churn violently. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. Why did he have to get seasick on dry land? It was bad enough when the army had them executing military maneuvers near the coast, but being led there at gunpoint for a cursed treasure? He was beginning to wish Roland had shot him back at the hacienda. At least that way, he could save himself the embarrassment of losing his lunch in front of Eva.

"Look, Carlos," Tacito snickered, "the fat sergeant is turning green."

"Ha! Don't tell me riding a horse make you nauseous," Carlos laughed.

Garcia ignored their taunts. He blinked hard and began focusing on the surroundings, disregarding the images of water and boats in his head. Instead, he searched the distance for a figure in black. The fox had to be out there somewhere, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. Unless he was at the mission…

The sergeant didn't shake the notion away this time.

* * *

The first thing Diego noticed as the hacienda became visible in the distance was the main gate. There was no lancer standing guard outside of it. Suppressing a wave of panic, he dug his heels into his Palomino to urge the animal on faster. The horse responded and switched into a gallop.

Coming to a stop outside the gate, Diego swung down off the saddle and ran across the patio. His heart began pounding faster when his eyes fell on the shattered window of the sala. Racing inside, he noticed the splintered wood on the doorframe. Someone had kicked it in.

Diego nearly bumped into Cresencia, who came dashing out upon seeing him. "Oh, Don Diego, I am glad that you are home," she said breathlessly. "We cannot find Don Alejandro or Doña Eva anywhere."

"What happened?" he asked, gently grasping the housekeeper's arms to calm her.

"I do not know, Don Diego," she answered. "Maria and I returned home about ten minutes ago to find the lancers missing, the kitchen ransacked and the sala window broken."

Diego let go of Cresencia and raised a hand to his chin. The men must have attacked the house searching for the map. He severely miscalculated their next move. "Have you seen Bernardo anywhere?"

"No, he is gone, too," she replied, her voice trembling.

"Have the vaqueros returned yet?"

"Sí, Maria and I ran into Benito while unloading our purchases," Cresencia responded. "When he saw the damage to the sala and kitchen, he searched the hacienda looking for you, Don Alejandro and Doña Eva. He is rounding up the others right now to begin inspecting the rancho for tracks."

Damn, Diego silently swore. There was a strong possibility any tracks the attackers made were destroyed when the vaqueros returned for the day. The same could be said if the assailants crossed any of the other ranchos in the area. He was no closer to finding these men now than he was after the first attack on Eva.

"Cresencia! Cresencia!"

They both turned their heads to the source of the voice. Seeing Benito passing through the gate, Diego and Cresencia exited the house and met him on the patio.

"Patrón," Benito exclaimed. "You are safe. What about the others?"

"I am afraid I am alone," Diego replied. "Did you find something important?"

"I am not sure, Patrón," he answered. "A wagon and three horses are missing from the stables, along with many of the tools and some rope."

Diego crinkled his brow in confusion. What would the attackers need with a wagon and tools, unless they were going after the treasure? Did his father and Eva manage to trick the men into believing they had the map in order to buy time? If so, where would they be heading?

"Benito!"

The sound of the young voice broke Diego from his thoughts. Teo darted through the gate and across the patio. "We found the lancers! One of them is hurt!"

"Show us," Diego instructed.

The young man sprinted to the woodshed with the other three following close behind. Rubén and Juan were cutting the ropes that bound the soldiers' hands and feet. Diego's gaze instantly locked on Private Hernandez, who was unconscious and had a large blood stain on the left side of his uniform jacket. The caballero knelt down and let out a sigh of relief when he felt a pulse on the man's neck.

"Take him into the hacienda," Diego directed. "There is a small guest room on the lower level. He will be comfortable there. Cresencia, show them where it is and get some water and towels. The private is warm with fever." Privates Ortega and Herrera gently picked up their fallen friend and carried him into the house.

"Benito, ride to the pueblo and get Doctor Avilla as quickly as you can," Diego continued. "Juan, keep an eye on Teo and Rubén." He turned to the young men. "I want you both to stay close to the house."

"But, Patrón," they protested in unison.

"Do not argue with me," Diego stated firmly. "It will be dark soon. If the men who assaulted the King's Lancers are still in the area, I do not want either of you becoming their next victim. That's an order. Do you understand me?"

"Sí," they answered together, lowering their heads.

Satisfied they would listen and not stray far, Diego left the stables and went directly to the guest room. He nodded to Herrera who stood by the bed while Ortega loosened Hernandez's jacket and shirt. When the lancer started to remove the bloodied clothing, Diego stopped him.

"Wait," he advised, stepping closer. The caballero knelt down and observed the wound. "Look at the way the cloth is slit. It looks like Private Hernandez may have been stabbed."

"Whoever did this will pay," Herrera seethed.

Diego ignored the comment, suppressing his own anger and fear of what happened to his father. "Benito is fetching the doctor and should return shortly. Since the blood is already dried, I think it would be best if we leave the injury alone. If we disturb it too much, we may cause it to start bleeding again."

"I think you are right, Don Diego," Ortega agreed.

Cresencia returned with a bowl of water and several towels. Diego stepped back out of her way. She sat down on the edge of the bed, setting the supplies on the adjacent nightstand. The housekeeper began dipping the towels into the bowl, making several cool compresses. She placed the first one on the fallen lancer's forehead and began dabbing at his neck with the second.

"Have you seen Sergeant Garcia?" Ortega asked.

"No," Diego replied, furrowing his brow. "Why?"

"He was here when we were ambushed outside," Ortega explained.

The young don reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Now Garcia was missing, too? It simply didn't make any sense. How did two men overpower the lancers, his father, Bernardo, Garcia and Eva, all while managing to take off with horses, a wagon and supplies? What was going on?

"Did you see who attacked you?" Diego queried.

"No, I was hit on the back of the head," Ortega answered. "I woke up in the woodshed tied up and with a headache. We must have been in there for a couple of hours." He turned to Herrera, "What about you?"

"The same thing happened to me, only I thought I saw someone lurking around the corner. When I went to investigate, that's when they got me." Herrera reached and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just cannot understand why they stabbed Hernandez, unless he put up a fight."

"We need to get back to the cuartel and alert Corporal Reyes of what has happened," Ortega said.

"I will look after him," Cresencia chimed in softly, gently tending to Hernandez.

"Sí, he is in excellent hands," Diego added. "We will send word to the cuartel of the private's condition after Doctor Avilla has seen him."

"Gracias, Don Diego," Ortega nodded.

It was when the two lancers left that Diego noticed Bernardo standing just outside the doorway, the color drained from his face. "Cresencia, I will return in a few minutes. Please stay with Private Hernandez."

"Wait, Don Diego," she called out. The housekeeper stood and moved closer to the young don. "Do you think the men who are after Doña Eva were here?" she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't know," Diego shrugged, not knowing what to make of the situation anymore. He needed to talk with Bernardo. "But I am sure everything will be fine," he added with more resolve than he felt.

When Cresencia turned and had her back to them, Diego grabbed the mute's arm and practically dragged him to the library. Shutting the door behind them, he inquired anxiously, "What happened?"

His friend just stood there, not showing any sign he heard Diego's voice. The don reached out and gently shook the other man's shoulders. "Bernardo, are you all right?" he asked in obvious concern.

The manservant looked up and began shaking his head 'no' before slumping into a nearby chair. He patted his chest, pointed above, saluted like a soldier and moved his fist to the back of his head.

"You were upstairs when the lancers were attacked," Diego surmised.

The mute nodded.

"I think I understand," Diego said quietly. "You saw one of the lancers get hit on the head and dragged away, but you didn't check to see if they were okay later on."

The mute nodded again and bowed his head.

"You can't blame yourself," Diego reasoned. "You didn't know Private Hernandez had been stabbed."

Bernardo shook his head vehemently that yes, it was his fault. He started a flurry of gestures that Diego couldn't follow, threw his hands up in defeat and uncharacteristically slammed his fist into a nearby table.

Diego jumped at the action and his concern grew ten-fold. "Bernardo, please tell me what happened here today. Are my father, Doña Eva and Sergeant Garcia still…alive?" He nearly choked over the last word.

Bernardo indicated 'yes' and chewed on his lower lip for a minute before slowly starting a series of signs. He stood, moved his arms in a rounded motion over his chest and mimicked picking up something heavy.

"Sergeant Garcia showed up here with Doña Eva's trunks…" the don voiced aloud.

Bernardo made a few more signs and with a small smile forming on his lips, pulled a large volume from the bookcase and handed it to the caballero.

Diego looked from the atlas to his friend with wide eyes. "She had the map all along and didn't realize it? It looks like we both have regrets today. I knew the two men behind the previous attacks were watching the plaza, but I didn't take into account Doña Eva's belongings arriving so soon. I should never have left the hacienda earlier."

Bernardo held up his hand, fingers spread.

"There were five of them? Heavily armed?" Diego inferred as Bernardo's face twisted into a scowl while holding two imaginary pistols in his hands. "That explains how they were able to storm the hacienda and overtake the guards, my father and the sergeant. It's good that you remained hidden."

Setting the atlas down on the desk, Diego continued translating the signs. "They rounded up a wagon, two horses and some supplies. My father, Doña Eva and Garcia were taken as hostages." Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. "Well, at least they are still alive," he sighed.

Diego leaned against the edge of the desk and folded his arms over his chest. "Since the _Santa Quintero_ shipwrecked off the coast of San Diego, and they have the real map, I know they are heading south. It's just a matter of finding their route," he pondered. His friend looked at him curiously and Diego laughed. "I still have a few secrets of my own."

Bernardo placed his hands on his hips and smiled smugly at the caballero.

"So, you know which road they took?" Diego asked wryly. Comprehension sank in and the mischievous expression faded from his features. "That is why you left the hacienda in such a rush, to follow the bandits. And why you did not check on the lancers beforehand… Benito said three horses were missing, yours was the third."

Bernardo lowered his head in disgrace.

"I know it was a difficult decision for you, my friend," Diego said, "but I am very grateful that you did not let my father out of your sight until you knew where they were headed. Gracias."

The mute looked up at the young don and nodded his gratitude for the words of encouragement. Diego patted him on the shoulder. "Go saddle Tornado. I will check in on Cresencia and Private Hernandez, make an excuse to leave and ride around to the cave's entrance."

After Bernardo disappeared into the secret passage, Diego left the library and headed for the guest room.

* * *

"It's time to set up camp for the night," Roland ordered, slowing the wagon to a halt. Surveying the area, he pointed to a spot up ahead, off to his right. "Those scraggly trees aren't much, but they will provide us with some cover. Just be careful, we can't afford to injure any of the horses in the brush."

The old trade road they were traveling on ran parallel to the coastline below, following the natural grade of the land. Carefully maneuvering their horses off the trail and into the treacherous terrain of rocks and wild shrubs, the group came to a stop about twenty-five feet from the edge of the precipice.

Sergeant Garcia groaned as they came closer to the cliff. The sounds of the ocean waves crashing onto the beach made his stomach drop. He swallowed hard, forcing the bile rising in his throat back down.

When Roland gave the order for his prisoners to dismount, Garcia slowly got off the animal, clutched his stomach and forced his knees not to wobble beneath him. He steadied his frame and stared at the bandit standing next to him. Tacito grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the horse.

"Tie them up," Roland instructed, "and put them by that fallen log over there."

Silvio, Tacito and Xavier herded the hostages by gunpoint to the area indicated. Carlos fetched the coil of rope from his saddle horn, cut off a section and began tying Alejandro's hands behind his back. Roland stopped him, "Secure their hands in front. That way we can see if they try anything. Then do their feet."

Carlos did as told and tied the don's wrists tightly together, pushed the old man to the ground, cut a new piece of rope and began working on his ankles. He repeated the process on Eva, showing no regard for her injured hands. Garcia let out a small sigh of relief when the señora quickly sat next to Alejandro, not allowing the bandit the opportunity to throw her into the log.

After Garcia was securely bound and shoved next to Eva, the bandits began to talk amongst themselves. With attention diverted from them, the sergeant exchanged worried glances with his friends.

"Are you all right, Demetrio?" Eva whispered. "You look ill."

"I get seasick near the ocean," he whispered back.

"Shut up!" Roland yelled. "You three are trying my patience. I will kill the next one who talks."

Garcia gulped, knowing full well Roland would not hesitate to carry out the threat. He turned his head to look at his friends once more and knew the fear etched on their features was mirrored on his own. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves and his queasy stomach, the sergeant focused his attention on the bandits.

Xavier sat on a nearby rock, pistol drawn, guarding them.

Tacito and Carlos stretched a rope between two large, sturdy shrubs in the distance. When the ends were firmly fastened, they led the horses out there two at a time and tethered them to the makeshift hitching post. When the six steeds, including Garcia's, were taken care of, they started detaching the mares from the wagon.

Silvio gathered small stones and dried sticks and brought them over to Roland, who fashioned them into a campfire. When the flames were going strong, Silvio carried two baskets from the wagon over.

Garcia shifted against the log, his shoulders slumping forward. He was tired; tired of the bandits, tired of feeling nauseous and tired of this whole affair concerning the cursed ship. The sergeant just wanted to go back to the cuartel and crawl into his own bed. Instead, he was tied up, afraid to make a sound, sitting on the cold dirt with God only knows what kind of insects and lizards crawling around, and to top things off, he was going to die.

Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but as soon as Roland lost his temper, Garcia knew he would be the first one to be killed. The bandits needed Eva to ensure the map was real. Alejandro was worth some money to them. But a fat sergeant? They didn't need him.

Eva…What would happen to his beautiful Eva? The sergeant shifted his focus to the señora beside him, letting his eyes fall from the dried blood on her ear to her two bandaged hands. That was only the beginning, he inwardly told himself, a shudder coursing the length his body. Desperados like these did unspeakable things to women… No! It would not happen to Eva, Garcia vowed.

Frustrated with the morbid concepts that took residence in his head, he tried forcing them away. In doing so, his thoughts drifted back to the fox and all of the curious notions he was having lately.

Zorro.

Diego.

Was his friend really the masked outlaw? As much as the sergeant wanted to shout that it was impossible, that it was ridiculous, he was starting to believe it was true. How else would one explain that Zorro appeared shortly after the caballero returned to Los Angeles and he could not recall a single instance they were ever seen together?

There had been some close encounters, such as the time Capitán Monastario arrested Diego on charges of being the outlaw and the fox rode through the plaza. There was also the time Garcia used the caballero as bait to capture Zorro. The fox managed to sneak into the cuartel and rescue Diego, yet not one lancer saw them together. Not even the sergeant, who sat guard outside the cell all night!

That event always puzzled Garcia. If he wasn't afraid of being killed, he would have laughed. He locked up the one person he was sure _wasn't_ Zorro, and it turns out that he had the fox in his jail all along! And somehow, Diego was crafty enough to get away. The amusement slowly faded and the doubts crept back in. His friend didn't know how to fight and handle a blade. Or did he?

It was only a few months ago that the sergeant entered the gate at the de la Vega hacienda and witnessed Diego fencing with Bernardo on the patio, showing remarkable talent. The young don downplayed his abilities by saying the little one was just trying to make him look good. It was the same day El Cuchillo and his men arrived in the pueblo…

Garcia pursed his lips together and furrowed his brow in consideration. Diego got into a brawl with one of Cuchillo's men in the tavern a few days later. It was amazing how he didn't need any help and easily defeated his opponent. When it was over, Garcia could have sworn that his friend actually enjoyed the fight! There was a mischievous twinkle in the caballero's eyes of which the sergeant had not seen since Diego was a young boy.

Perhaps he did not change so much while in Madrid…

Sergeant Garcia suddenly felt like an idiot. Even the physical similarities between Diego and Zorro were uncanny. They shared the same height, build and moustache. Garcia reluctantly admitted that he did have a way of over exaggerating the fox's description; he was not seven feet tall with shoulders as wide as a doorway. It seemed so obvious now. Why did he not realize it sooner?

He lowered his head in disappointment. Was that the reason Diego called him a friend? So he could use the sergeant to gather information on what the army was planning? Is that why the caballero bought him wine and listened to the sergeant tell story after story of almost capturing Zorro? Now Garcia felt stupid. Did Diego go home and laugh afterwards at the big, fat, dumb soldier?

He shook the horrible thoughts out of his head. Of course Diego was his friend. If he wasn't, why would he go to such lengths as Zorro to save the sergeant's life? Garcia didn't even like to think about how many times he would have died had the fox not rescued him. Even when his life wasn't in danger, like the time Señor Basilio locked him in the stocks simply because he tried to get his piñata back, Zorro rode to save him from the humiliation.

Diego was definitely his friend.

The soldier relaxed his shoulders a bit and tried getting comfortable against the log. Stretching his neck to look past Eva, his gaze fell on Alejandro. Did the older don know his son was Zorro? Garcia wasn't sure what the answer was.

Everyone in the pueblo was aware that Alejandro was highly disappointed in his son when Diego returned home from Spain. The younger de la Vega being the subject of gossip and jokes by the older hacendados didn't help matters any. But the father and son seemed to get along much better as time went on, and the improved relationship was especially noticeable after they returned from the trip to Monterey. Did he tell his father who he was and it eased the tension?

If Alejandro knew the truth, why did he rant so angrily about Diego to the bandits?

Garcia understood that he lied about Diego's whereabouts to protect his son, not wanting the desperados to hunt him down as a threat. It was the angry tirade about the caballero being lazy and falling asleep by a lake that baffled the sergeant. That description was not like his friend at all.

Were the father and son still struggling to get along?

Or did Alejandro want to further throw the bandits off Diego's – Zorro's – scent?

The sergeant didn't know what to believe. He was so confused and all of the thinking was giving him a headache. Observing their surroundings under the soft glow of the crescent moon, concern started gnawing at him. Zorro was a legend; he could not be caught or wounded. Diego was a flesh and blood man; he could be hurt or killed.

While the brush was overgrown and tall in some areas, it still did not leave many places for Zorro to take cover and sneak up on the camp. If the fox did find them, would he be able to overtake five armed men?

Would Diego be able to overtake them?

In that moment, Sergeant Garcia hoped he was wrong about the don. He did not want his friend to die.

* * *

"Ah, I see you have Tornado ready to go," Diego said entering the cave. The black stallion nuzzled him and the caballero rubbed his nose much to the horse's delight. Bernardo stood there grinning broadly.

"Did you put the pistol in the saddlebags?" he asked.

The mute nodded.

"Good," Diego replied, patting the horse on the neck before stepping away. "While I am upstairs getting changed, I want you to fetch a second pistol, additional gunpowder and a small medical kit with bandages and ointments."

Bernardo's eyes widened in alarm and he stared incredulously at the taller man. He reached out, placed his hand on the young don's arm to stop him from heading up the passage and began a flurry of gestures.

"Slow down, my friend," Diego responded with a sad smile. "These men have attacked Doña Eva, set fire to a building with people inside and stabbed a King's Lancer. When I catch up to them, I have no idea what I'm going to find. Zorro needs to be prepared for the worst."

The manservant swallowed hard, nodded his understanding and went to get the requested items.

Diego took the stairs two at a time up to the secret room, where he quickly changed into the fox's black clothing. As he was tying the loose ends of his mask into a knot, Bernardo rejoined him. "Do you get everything?" Zorro asked.

Bernardo nodded again, pointed to himself and then to the fox.

"No, Bernardo," Zorro replied. "I must go alone. There is something else I need for you to do." He went to the desk and pulled a sheet of paper from the drawer. Dipping the nib of a quill into a bottle of ink, he wrote a brief message. "Wait one hour and deliver this to the cuartel. If Corporal Reyes is not there, you know which of the lancers are most reliable," he smiled. "And make sure you are not seen, eh?"

Bernardo looked down at the note and signaled it would be delivered.

Zorro picked up his sheathed sword and secured the scabbard to his belt. He donned the hat and slipped into the cape Bernardo held up. "Gracias, mi amigo," he grinned. Picking up his gloves, he turned to the mute. "Fortunato is tethered to a tree around the corner. The soldiers will probably start their search for our friends on the de la Vega grounds. Make sure he is not discovered, but don't take him too far. Diego may need to make a quick return to the hacienda."

Bernardo smiled softly and followed Zorro down to the cave. After mounting Tornado, the fox saluted his friend and left. He never saw the worry that subsequently took hold in the manservant's eyes.

* * *

Sensing the urgency of his master, Tornado ran like the wind over the familiar terrain west of the pueblo. When they turned south onto the old trail near the coast, the rider slowed the animal to a steady canter. Zorro was grateful for the sliver of moon that offered enough light so he and the stallion could detect any hazardous patches in the dirt path. That same soft glow would later put them at a disadvantage.

The gentle rise and fall of the land was too open for his tastes. There were scant places to hide and take cover meaning the bandits could just as easily spot him approaching as he could their camp. He almost wished the fortune hunters stuck to the mountains; it would have made a rescue much easier.

Once they traversed about fifteen miles, Zorro slowed Tornado to a walk. With alert senses, he surveyed the landscape for any signs of a campfire and listened for voices in the distance. Even with a head start of over two hours, the bandits could not have progressed more than twenty miles. The wagon and condition of the road would slow their pace. The camp had to be close.

Tornado abruptly stopped and snorted.

"What is it boy?" Zorro asked, leaning forward and patting the animal's neck.

The black stallion took a few more steps, stopped again and raised his nose in the air.

"Good boy, Tornado," Zorro whispered, "I smell it, too." The masked man dismounted, guided the horse off the trail, pulled one of the pistols from the saddlebag and tucked it in his sash. Grabbing his whip and a length of rope, he turned to Tornado, "Stay here."

The fox carefully crept through the brush, following the faint scent of burning wood until he glimpsed a warm glow in the midst of a thicket of scraggly trees. Moving closer, he crouched behind a tall shrub to get a better look at the camp's layout. His eyes instantly fell on his father, Eva and Garcia sitting against a fallen log with their hands and feet securely bound.

The five bandits were gathered around the flames, finishing the remnants of their meal. The wagon was on the other side, about fifteen feet from the fire, and the horses were tethered another twenty feet or so out. Edging closer, Zorro tried listening in on what the armed men were saying. They kept their voices subdued, so he only caught a few bits and pieces, but determined the one named Roland was the leader.

When Silvio stood and went to guard the hostages, the fox dropped back a few feet. He needed to split the desperados up and take them out one at a time. If he openly attacked the camp, his father and their friends were as good as dead. Quickly devising a plan, Zorro stealthily made his way around the outer edge of the camp to the horses.

He loosened the rope securing Blanca to the makeshift hitching post. One of the finest mares in the de la Vega's stables, she was not easily spooked and would never be the sole animal to startle, especially when the younger, more spirited Valencia was by her side – unless she was given a signal. If all went well, the commotion would draw one or two of the bandits this way while also alerting his father he was here. The fox gave the command and Blanca reared up unquestioningly. Valencia simply snorted at being left out of the fun.

"What was that?" Roland barked, obviously startled.

"Ah, it's just one of the horses," Tacito replied. "It probably got spooked by a snake or something. I'll go check it out. It's time to feed them anyway."

"I'll help you," Carlos added. "Then we can play a game or two of cards."

"Look at the white one, it got loose," Tacito said, running over. "There's some extra feed in the wagon. You go get that while I tie the damned thing back up."

Zorro snuck up behind the man and knocked him out with the handle of the whip. He was dragging the body away from the animals when Carlos approached. The bandit dropped the bag of feed and looked around. "Hey, Tacito, where…"

The fox clasped a black gloved hand over Carlos' mouth to silence him. The man tried fighting back and they struggled to the ground, where Zorro rendered him unconscious. Once the two fortune hunters were securely tied and gagged, he relieved them of their weapons and set his eyes on the other three. When he took cover behind the wagon, Sergeant Garcia spotted him.

The soldier's mouth dropped open. Zorro raised a finger to his lips, imploring the lancer to remain quiet. Garcia responded by hastily clamping his mouth shut. The expression on his round face turned from one of shock to pure terror, sending a small shiver down the fox's spine.

"Did you see a snake, too?" Silvio quipped.

"N…no…I mean…y…yes," Garcia stuttered. "It, uh, slithered that way," he motioned his head, indicting the snake went behind the log.

"You had better hope it's not poisonous," Silvio laughed. "You would make a good meal for it."

"Venomous, you idiot," Roland corrected as he came closer. "Snakes are venomous, not poisonous."

"What does it matter?" Silvio replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"We wouldn't want the pretty señora to get bitten," Roland grinned devilishly. "And she is very pretty. It's going to be a long night and it does get cold out here. Why don't I keep you warm?" He leaned down and grabbed Eva's bound wrists, pulling her to him.

"Let go of her, you monster!" Garcia yelled.

"What are you going to do to stop me?" Roland asked, while Eva struggled in his grasp.

"I…I…uh…" Garcia stammered, looking to the wagon.

"Is this your sweetheart?" Roland mocked, lugging the señora to the other side of the fire. "He is nothing more that a fat, slovenly pig." With one arm wrapped around her waist, he unsheathed his dagger with his free hand. "You can do much better."

"Come on, Roland, we don't need to do this," Silvio interrupted, staying near the log. "She's going to show us where the treasure is."

"Your brother may not want a piece of her," Xavier chimed in, "but I'll take her when you're done." He grabbed her legs and cut the rope around her ankles.

Damn, Zorro silently swore. This was getting out of hand. The fox studied the scene before him, plotting a course of action. He finally locked eyes with his father, who was gritting his teeth in raw fury while searching the darkness for his son's whereabouts, and made a series of quick gestures. Alejandro nodded in understanding. Garcia continued sending pleading glances his way while beseeching Roland to stop.

It was now or never.

Zorro jumped out from behind the wagon, cracked his whip and struck the pistol out of Silvio's hand. He tumbled off balance to the ground. Alejandro raised his feet and clunked the man on the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.

"Watch out, Zorro!" Garcia shouted.

Xavier drew both his weapons and aimed at the masked man. The fox responded by diving forward and firing the pistol in his left hand. The shot hit its mark, and the dead fortune hunter fell to the ground.

"Release the señora," Zorro demanded as he scrambled to his feet.

Roland responded by pressing his dagger to Eva's throat. "Drop your whip, Señor, or she dies," he spat. "You have used your one shot, and you cannot hit me with the whip without also striking her." Little by little, he inched closer to the edge of the cliff.

The fox took a deep breath, knowing Roland had the upper hand; he couldn't risk striking Eva. He slowly stepped forward, angling for a better position.

"Stop right there, Zorro," he ordered, pointing the dagger at the masked man while continuing toward the edge. "I will kill her," he moved the point of the blade back to Eva's throat.

Zorro steeled his resolve. If he could just maneuver a few feet over and make Roland point the knife at him again, he would have a clean shot. He looked into Eva's eyes wanting to reassure her, hoping she would understand, but was taken by surprise by what he saw. The darkness and flickering flames could not hide the fear in her orbs, but she was also signaling to him.

The fox silently pleaded with her not to do it; it was too dangerous.

"What are you two doing?" Roland hissed. He pointed the blade at Zorro again and Eva reacted. She jammed her elbow into her captor's ribs and slammed her foot into his.

Roland stumbled and grunted in pain but didn't release the arm around her waist. Zorro lunged forward, going for the dagger in the bandit's hand. In the ensuing struggle, Roland staggered and slipped over the edge, dragging Eva and Zorro with him.

Alejandro and Garcia could only watch on in horror as they disappeared over the edge.


	11. Chapter X

**The Curse of the Santa Quintero**

**Chapter X**

"No…"

The word was barely audible, but the depth of emotional anguish in the strained whisper was as tangible as the ground they sat on. It sent chills down Sergeant Garcia's back. He wrenched his eyes away from the edge and turned his gaze to the man who uttered it. Don Alejandro de la Vega's face was as white as a ghost, his features twisted into agonizing torment.

Garcia's suspicions were confirmed in the worst possible way.

Not only did he lose Eva, his beautiful, smart and spirited Eva, but he also lost his friend – his best friend. It wasn't just Zorro who plunged over trying to save her, it was Diego. His friend vowed to do his best to keep the señora safe, and he paid with his life. They both paid with their lives.

The sergeant's breaths shortened and his body started trembling. They couldn't be dead. He could not have lost them both. Not like this. Not at the hands of a deranged bandit and a cursed treasure. Zorro always succeeded; he wouldn't fail when it was this important. Not when Eva was involved. She was worthy of so much more in life; she deserved to be happy. She deserved to be saved by the fox.

But she was dead now, along with the fox…

Garcia's senses slowly numbed with the realization that he would never see his lovely señora or his friend again. The heat from the campfire burning only a few feet away grew elusive and his fingers turned cold from the chill of the night air. Even the chafing of the rope binding his wrists didn't bother him anymore. There would be no more of Eva's sweet laughter or delicious treats; there would be no more nights in the tavern telling Diego rousing tales of adventure or chasing Zorro in the hills.

Sergeant Garcia wished that he was lying dead at the bottom of the cliff, not Eva and Diego.

He wanted to scream to the world – to God – that it wasn't fair. Eva had suffered so much in her life and yet never complained. She had every right to be bitter and spiteful, but she wasn't. The señora chose to be happy and look for the good in people. Eva was one of the few who looked past the sergeant's clumsy demeanor and big belly and saw what was in his heart. And this is how she was rewarded? Plunging to a violent death?

What about Diego? He was always so kind and patient with everyone in the pueblo. Being the son of the wealthiest landowner in California, he could sail through life on his father's name and money. Instead, he risked his life and everything his family worked for to fight against corrupt officials who took advantage of the poor and the weak. In doing so, he was branded an outlaw and a price was put on his head. Diego was not a bandit, he was a hero. And being a hero cost him his life. He was a son Don Alejandro could be enormously proud of.

Don Alejandro…what would happen to him now that he lost his only child? Garcia chewed on his lower lip before crooking his head to look at the grieving father once more. His jaw dropped open and his eyes widened in surprise at the sight that greeted him. Alejandro's features were steeled in determination, all traces of sorrow now absent. The sergeant watched in awe as the don pulled up the leg of his trousers and drew a knife from his boot. The older de la Vega deftly cut the ropes that tied his hands and ankles, thrust the knife into the soldier's hands and ran toward the edge. Garcia sat there momentarily stunned before following suit.

* * *

Lunging forward, Zorro grabbed Roland's wrist in an effort to wring the dagger from his grasp. Even in the ensuing struggle for control of the weapon, the fortune hunter maintained a tight hold on Eva. As they stumbled back, the desperado tripped and the solid ground disappeared beneath their feet. Realizing what just happened, Roland let out a blood curdling scream and began flailing his arms frantically.

Seizing the opportunity, Zorro pushed him off and gripped Eva's forearm. With the whip still in his hand, he cracked it wildly, praying it would latch on to something – anything. Sharp, stinging pain exploded in his arms and shoulders as they came to an abrupt stop and he groaned at the burning sensation. Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes and dared to look at their predicament.

The relief he felt as they started swinging in an arc was short lived.

They were dangling along the side of the cliff. Zorro craned his neck and just barely made out the end of the whip wrapped around an old tree root that extended out the side of the precipice about six feet from the top. It was about another thirty-five feet straight down, where a steep slope continued another ten feet or so to the rocky beach below.

There was nothing to grab hold of; no way to climb to the top. They were stuck hanging there with the fox's body stretched out awkwardly. His right hand tightly clutched the handle of the whip above his head, while his left held on to Eva for dear life below. He couldn't hold this position for much longer.

With a raspy voice, he called out to her, "Señora, there is a knife in my boot. Can you get to it?" Zorro lifted his leg to bring the opening of the boot closer to her bound hands.

"Sí," she murmured. It took Eva a few minutes to find the weapon and slice through the rope binding her wrists. "Now what?" she asked when she was finally free.

"Toss the knife aside and grab hold of my leg," Zorro replied. She quickly obeyed. "I must let go of your wrist so I can adjust my hold on the whip. Are you okay?" Eva simply nodded and squeezed him tighter, so he released her and seized the handle of the whip with both hands. The fox decided to try inching his way up, but the stress of their weight and movement was too much for the old root. He sensed it bowing under the pressure and stopped.

With his left hand firmly planted on the whip's handle, he clutched the back of Eva's dress with his right. "Señora, I need for you to crawl up me and wrap your arms around my neck. I have you and will not let you slip. Can you do this?"

There was a long pause before she finally responded in soft voice, "Sí, I will do it."

Zorro didn't like straining the tenuous connection to the anchor that kept them alive anymore than he had to, but there wasn't much choice. The exertion on the muscles in his shoulders and arms was taking a toll and he also didn't want to risk Eva losing her grasp and falling to her death. He needed to make sure she was secure while improving their chances for survival.

Little by little, Eva clambered up the fox while he also worked to pull her along. She made her way up his leg, past his thigh and to his waist. Each advance triggered crumbs of dirt to sprinkle down on them from above. With one last heave, Zorro lifted her enough so she could reach past his shoulder and wrap her arms firmly around his neck. Larger clumps of dirt and gravel rained down.

The fox inhaled sharply as he felt the root bend even more. He wasn't sure if it was cracking under the strain of their movement or if their anchor was pulling loose from the earth. Either way, they wouldn't have much longer.

Zorro let go of Eva's dress and wrapped his arm reassuring around her waist. It was only after she was safely in his hold that he allowed a small smile to form on his lips. She was trembling and her breaths were hurried, but she managed to remain calm and keep her wits about her despite the severity of their situation. He knew from the previous ordeals that she was a remarkable woman, but his respect for her grew even greater in this instant.

Now, if only he could figure out what to do next…

* * *

"Do you see them?" Garcia asked, dropping to his knees beside Alejandro and peering over the edge.

"No, it's too dark," Alejandro responded with fear creeping back into his voice. "Everything below is shrouded in shadows. We must get down there and help them."

"Help them?" Garcia repeated. Diego and Eva were dead; they could not be helped. Even Zorro could not survive such a fall. The sergeant swallowed hard. It was his duty as the acting commandante to go down to the beach and verify the deaths, but he wasn't sure he wanted to do his duty.

He didn't want to see them like…like that. Their broken, prone, still bodies…

Alejandro stared at him like he was mad, "Of course we must help them."

The older don suddenly stood up and began looking around frantically. Garcia knew he was searching for a path to take him below. He shook his head and wearily collapsed from his knees to a sitting position on the dirt. Alejandro didn't need to see his son's lifeless body. With a sigh, he prepared himself for a fight. A fight he resolved not to lose. "Don Alejandro, you don't…you shouldn't…"

The frenzied gaze in the older man's eyes broke Garcia's heart. He turned his head away when a sudden glint caught his eye. "What's that?" he questioned, pointing to a spot on the face of the cliff. He squinted and scurried to his knees again. "It's them!" the sergeant hollered. "Eva!"

"Over here!" came Diego's – Zorro's – reply.

Alejandro raced back and knelt by the sergeant's side, "They are alive!"

Both men took off running several yards north until they were above the dangling couple. Alejandro took a step closer to the edge, but quickly moved back when granules of dirt started sliding down. He reached out a hand to stop the sergeant, "The ground is not very sturdy. We must be vigilant."

Garcia nodded and cautiously looked below. He spotted the end of the whip wrapped around an old tree root. "What do we do now? The whip is beyond our reach so we can't pull them up."

Alejandro raised a hand to his chin in concentration. "Rope; there is some rope in the wagon. We can lift them up that way. I'll go get it." He barely finished the sentence as he set off back to the campsite.

The sergeant carefully kneeled down, mindful of the loose earth. "Eva, Zorro, we are going to get some rope to pull you up with. Just hang on for a little bit longer." The words felt foolish even as they rolled off his tongue. Of course they would hang on, what else would they do? Garcia rolled his eyes.

The faint sound of hoof beats echoing in the distance turned louder and the sergeant twisted to see who was approaching. A big, black horse was hurtling right toward him. Garcia fell on his butt, startled by the powerful stallion. Zorro's steed reared up and neighed loudly. This only scared the soldier more.

"Calm down, Tornado."

Garcia jerked his head and saw Alejandro returning. The older de la Vega patted the stallion's neck and spoke calmingly to him. Although he had come to the conclusion his friend was the masked bandit, the sight before him was too much for the lancer to reconcile at the moment.

"It is all right, Sergeant," Alejandro said. "He is just worried about his master."

Garcia simply bobbed his head and gulped. Tornado still danced anxiously, but was considerably more at ease than a few seconds ago. The sergeant crawled back to his knees. The don already fastened the end of the rope into a loop and they lowered it to the couple below.

"Is this long enough?" Garcia asked, the remaining length of coil becoming shorter and shorter as they fed it down.

"It has to be," Alejandro stated emphatically.

About a four foot section was left when the loop finally reached Zorro and Eva. Garcia watched, his heart pounding, as the señora slipped an arm and her head through it. "She is secure," the fox yelled.

Both men firmly took hold of the end of the rope and began hoisting Eva up. No sooner did they start when a large chunk of dirt crumbled beneath their knees, causing them to lunge dangerously forward. The señora screamed as she plummeted. Garcia threw his weight back to brace himself and Alejandro stumbled rearward. They exchanged worried glances and continued hauling Eva in.

When she was finally within grasp, Alejandro grabbed her arm and lifted her onto solid ground. With the rope still wrapped around her, Eva threw herself at Garcia and embraced him tightly. She buried her head in the sergeant's chest and sobbed softly.

Seeing the older don impatiently struggling to free the loop from around Eva's body, Garcia gently urged her off and helped her slip out of it. Alejandro looked as if he wanted to toss it down, but knowing that it could catch on something, resigned to quickly lowering it just like they did for Eva. It was only a foot or two away from Zorro…

A sharp crack pierced the night air.

"No!" Alejandro shouted.

* * *

Once the rope was securely around Eva, Zorro yelled that she was ready. "It is all right, Señora," he said softly. With a reassuring grin, he added, "You will be safely above in a few minutes."

Their faces were only inches apart and Eva looked directly into the fox's eyes. The corners of her lips curled up in a small smile. "Gracias, Señor Zorro," she whispered.

When the rope became taut and he felt her rising, he slowly and carefully released his grasp of her waist. "It's all right," he repeated. "You must let go of me." Eva nodded and reluctantly let her arm slip away from his neck.

Zorro watched as she was lifted up and clutched the whip with both hands again. He could still feel the root giving under the stress and prayed that it would hold up a little bit longer now that the weight load was lessened. More dirt tumbled down. He wasn't sure if it was from the anchor or the activity higher up; he prayed it was the latter.

A sudden scream shattered the still air around him. As Zorro looked up to see Eva plunging down, a large chunk of earth bounced off the brim of his hat. He swung out and placed the soles of his boots against the face of the cliff, spread his right arm wide and braced to catch her.

Eva came to an abrupt stop and Zorro exhaled heavily, his heart racing in his chest. The relief was short lived; a crack sounded from above and he dropped lower. The fox reached out, desperately trying to find something – anything – to grab hold of. He was greeted with loose rocks and packed dirt.

He craned his neck and saw Eva disappearing over the edge above. Small cracks continued devastating the root. Zorro unlatched his sheathed sword from his belt and tossed it away in an effort to increase his chances of surviving the fall if it came to that. The knife he carried was already tossed aside.

Looking up again, he set his eyes on the loop of the rope coming closer. A loud, sharp crack pierced the air just as Zorro tried to propel himself toward it. The elusive lifeline was still inches away from his hand and he was met with only air. The fox tried relaxing his body as he plummeted to the rocky beach below.

* * *

"No!" Alejandro shouted. "No…"

The black clad figure vanished into the dark void below.

The don's breaths shortened, his body began shaking uncontrollably and his heart felt as if it would pound right out of his chest. No, Diego couldn't be… He couldn't have lost his son…

"We were so close," Garcia muttered despondently.

Alejandro looked down at the rope still clutched in his hands. With wide eyes, he pivoted to the sergeant. "You must lower me down." He yanked the rope up and started to slip into the loop.

Garcia wrestled it away from him. "You cannot do this, Don Alejandro," he pleaded. "The rope is not long enough. It just barely made it to them."

"I must get down there!" Alejandro yelled wildly.

Garcia lowered his head. "The capitán used to bring us out here for maneuvers," he said softly. "I think there is a path to the beach about a mile north of here. If no one has been in the area, it might be hidden by the brush. The trail is steep and can be treacherous, but it will get you down there."

Alejandro nodded his thanks, ran to Tornado, swung onto the saddle and started riding north. He trusted the stallion's instincts to find safe footing and kept his eyes focused along the edge of the cliff in search of the path. Once they traversed almost a mile, Alejandro grew agitated.

"Where is this path?" he spat. "There is no way down from here!"

Tornado continued on a few more yards and stopped. He neighed and shook his head.

"What is it, Tornado?"

The horse took a few steps toward closer to the edge and raised his nose.

Alejandro narrowed his eyes in a combination of confusion and frustration. Tornado kept raising his nose up and down, so he dismounted to take a look. Pushing past the overgrown shrubs and weeds, he smiled. "Good boy, Tornado," he said to the horse.

There a few feet ahead of him was the start of a trail carved into the face of the cliff. It was narrow with a steep grade, but it was passable. It had to be. Alejandro took a deep breath and began the descent down. A neigh from behind drew his attention and he saw Tornado approaching.

"No, boy, you can't go," Alejandro said sadly. Thinking of the bond his son shared with animal made his heart break. "Stay here." The horse shook his head again. "Stay here," he repeated.

Satisfied the faithful stallion wasn't following him, Alejandro cautiously headed down the trail. He kept one hand against the earth wall and took one slow step at a time. Some dirt and pebbles rolled down, but the path was otherwise sturdy. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally stepped foot on the beach.

Alejandro took off running south in search of his son, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribcage and the need to take a deep breath. He forced his aging body forward, not allowing anything to slow his progress. He finally slowed his pace when he neared the spot he was sure Diego fell from and frenetically scanned the boulders for his child.

His heart skipped a beat when his eyes fell on the dark, shadowy figure lying ever so still in the distance. Alejandro raced over and dropped to his knees besides the prone form. Diego's hat was lying crumpled a few feet away and his cape was tangled around his body. The mask was a bit crooked, but remained on.

"Diego…"

Alejandro inhaled sharply. With his hand visibly shaking, he reached out and touched his son's neck. He exhaled loudly in relief at feeling the pulse under his fingers. "Diego, mi hijo, wake up," he pleaded with unrestrained fear in his voice. "Please, mi hijo, wake up." But Diego didn't move or make a sound.

The older don looked over his son's body for any signs of injuries. He gently checked his arms and legs for any indication of broken bones. Satisfied there were no obvious breaks, he started prodding Diego's ribs. Alejandro then carefully rolled Diego onto his back, untangled the cape and finished checking his ribcage. Nothing felt out of place, but that didn't mean his son escaped any damage. There was always the possibility of internal injuries.

"Diego, it's me, Papá, please wake up." During the process, Diego remained eerily still, not making the slightest move. Tears formed in the old don's eyes. "Please, mi hijo, I know you are still with me." He nudged his son's shoulder, "Wake up."

Under the soft glow of the moon, Alejandro surveyed the many tears in the fox's clothes and how covered in dust he was. Glancing upward, he studied the steep slope and realized Diego must have landed near the top of the incline and tumbled down. It would account for the damaged clothing and the position he found him in.

He nudged him again. "Diego, open your eyes. You have to open your eyes. Do it for me, mi hijo."

Alejandro shrugged his jacket off and folded it into a tidy bundle. He tenderly lifted his son's head and placed the makeshift pillow under him. It was then he felt the sticky substance on his fingers. Pulling them back, he saw dark crimson fluid. Blood. His son must have hit his head rolling down the slope.

"Oh, Diego," he whispered hoarsely. "No…"

He quickly untied his cravat and pressed it to the wound. After a few minutes passed, he held the silk up to the moonlight to determine how much blood loss there was. To his relief, there was only a small stain. If it had already clotted, the wound must not have been too bad. Or the mask absorbed most of it…

"Come on, Diego," he continued pleading. "I know you can hear me. You have to wake up. I can't lose you." Alejandro closed his eyes and silently prayed for his son's safety. "Please, God, don't take him from me," he finished out loud. "Take me, but do not take mi hijo. Do not take my Diego. He has done so much good and so many people need him."

"That can be arranged."

Alejandro whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice. Roland was several yards away with a pistol aimed directly at the don. He clutched his other arm closely to his chest as if he was cradling the limb. A large gash was evident on his thigh and he limped closer. Blood ran down the side of his face.

"Diego, mi hijo, huh?" the desperado laughed. "So the infamous Zorro is really your popinjay son?"

"What do you want?" Alejandro snarled.

"I'm here to grant your prayer, old man," Roland replied. "Well, part of it anyway. Your life is about to come to an end. Unfortunately for you, your son's life will not be spared."

"You have only one shot," Alejandro challenged. Out of the corner of his eye, he searched for something to use as a weapon. He left his knife with Sergeant Garcia and his son did not have his sword on him.

"It's all I need, even for you," Roland grinned maliciously. "Then I can take my time with your hijo. I have never skinned a fox alive before. It should be fun."

A soft groan emanated from behind, startling Alejandro. He jerked his head around and saw Diego's eyes flutter open. "Father," he croaked. His son tried to move, but closed his eyes and groaned again.

"It looks like your precious Diego gets to watch his father die," Roland announced, his features curled into gleeful maliciousness. "Say hello to the devil for me, Don Alejandro."

The older de la Vega took a deep breath as the desperado straightened his arm and steadied his aim. He wouldn't miss at this range. A loud boom echoed in the night and Alejandro's body jolted.

* * *

Sergeant Garcia watched the hacendado ride off on the magnificent black stallion. When he vanished in the distance, he turned to Eva. "Are you hurt?" he asked, extending a hand to help her to her feet.

"No, I am fine, Demetrio," she replied. Tilting her head, she narrowed her brows, "Are you all right?"

"I should get down there, too," Garcia said sadly. "He…Zorro…he is my friend and I should be there."

"Then go," she urged.

"But I cannot leave you here alone with the bandidos," he began.

"I am coming with you," she insisted. "Señor Zorro saved my life. I want to help him, too."

Garcia was ready to argue that she did not need to view such a sight when it suddenly dawned on him that Silvio was not tied up. "The bandidos!" the sergeant exclaimed. "I must make sure they don't get away." He started back toward the camp, but stopped when Eva stuck to his heels. "What are you doing?"

"Do you want to leave me out here alone if the bandits are loose?" she inquired.

"Well, no, but…" he sighed. She had a point. "Stay behind me."

The campfire was still burning strong as they approached the camp. The sergeant spotted Silvio near the log, right where he was knocked unconscious. Stepping closer, he noticed the man was beginning to stir. "Oh, no, you don't," Garcia admonished.

Still clutching the rope he wrestled from Don Alejandro, he knelt down and tied the man's hands and feet securely. "How does it feel?" The sergeant couldn't resist the taunting words when Silvio glanced at him groggily. He picked up the bandit's discarded pistol.

"Zorro probably tied the others up over there," Garcia said to Eva, pointing to the makeshift hitching post. They found Tacito and Carlos firmly bound behind the horses, their weapons piled near the wagon.

"Since they are all tied up, there should be nothing stopping us from joining Don Alejandro," the señora insisted. "Let's go." She grasped his arm and encouraged him onward.

Garcia nodded his appreciation and a small smile formed on his lips. He untethered his mount, climbed into the saddle and pulled Eva onto his lap. The couple anxiously rode in the direction of the path, locating it without difficulty from the shrubs that Don Alejandro stomped over. "This is not going to be easy," he noted, gazing from the narrow trail to his oversized belly.

"We can make it," Eva stated stubbornly as they dismounted.

Garcia inwardly hoped she was right. He tucked the pistol he was holding into his uniform belt and was about to take the first steps onto the path when Eva reached out and grabbed his arm again. "What is it?" he asked, turning to look at her.

The señora chewed on her lower lip before finally speaking. "Demetrio, do you…" she paused. "Do you know who Zorro is?"

Garcia didn't know how to answer that question. Was it really so obvious that he figured out the masked man's identity? He trusted Eva beyond a doubt, but it still didn't seem right to divulge that information. It was not his secret to tell. "I…I know that he is my friend and I must try to help him," he finally replied.

Sadness filled her eyes. "He is Don Diego, isn't he?"

"How did you…" he started incredulously, but she cut him off.

"Zorro smells of fine soaps and spicy cigars," Eva responded. "I have only smelled such a combination at the de la Vega hacienda." Her face paled and sorrow overcame her features. "Any lingering doubts I had were confirmed by Don Alejandro," she added quietly.

When a tear ran down her cheek, Garcia moved closer. "Do not cry, Eva."

"I have buried both of my children. I know what it is like to lose a child. Don Alejandro's reactions were not those of a man concerned over an acquaintance; they were those of a father terrified for his son. Even Javier showed such emotion when our children died," she sniffed and wiped her cheeks. "We must not let Don Alejandro be alone at a time like this."

"We won't," Garcia reassured her. "We will be there for him." He gently took hold of her hand and led her onto the trail. "Stay close to me," he advised, letting his fingers slip away from hers in order to firm his footing and press his body against the earth wall for support. The sergeant glanced back and saw Eva following his lead.

A few tight scrapes met the sergeant's bulky frame on the way down, but he managed by leaning his back to the wall and sliding his feet sideways. When they were finally on the beach, he let out a sigh of relief. "I thought I would be taking the fast way down a couple of times," he said, shaking his head as he gazed up at the trail.

"Oh, it was not that bad, Demetrio," she grinned. "It was kind of exciting."

"That is easy for you to say," he exclaimed, patting his stomach. "You did not have a belly hanging over the edge!"

"No, I suppose I didn't," Eva chuckled. The melodic sound faded and was replaced by a grim expression. "We must find Don Alejandro and pray Don Diego is still alive."

Garcia took the señora's hand and lumbered along as fast as his could, pausing to catch his breath every few minutes. He halted at the sight ahead. Alejandro was kneeling by a dark figure, shielding the form from Roland, who pointed a pistol directly at the older don.

"Get behind those boulders," he whispered to Eva. She immediately did as directed. The sergeant pulled the pistol from his belt and aimed carefully. Taking a deep breath, he squeezed the trigger. A loud boom resonated in the night air.

Roland fell hard to the ground.

Alejandro's body jolted toward the sound of the gunshot. "Sergeant Garcia!" he exclaimed.

"Sí, Don Alejandro," Garcia answered while walking closer to the father and son. "Are you all right?"

"Thanks to you I am," the don replied. "Gracias, Sergeant. Words cannot express my gratitude."

"You do not need to thank me," Garcia shrugged, embarrassed by the praise. "Is he…is Zorro dead?" he asked hesitantly, signaling the fallen man in black.

"No, he is alive," Alejandro beamed proudly.

A large smile formed on the sergeant's round face. His friend was alive! With renewed energy coursing through his body, he approached Roland and relieved the dead fortune hunter of his pistol. Garcia turned to the boulders where the señora took cover. "It is safe to come out now, Eva," he hollered.

While she came running to him, he observed Alejandro tend to his son. He spoke to him in low murmurs and the sergeant tried not to listen in. The older don helped Diego – Zorro, he reminded himself – into a sitting position.

Eva came to a stop next to Garcia, his large smile reflected on her lips, too. "He is alive," she gleamed.

Garcia studied his friend. Without the hat, the masked man didn't look nearly as intimidating. In an odd way, he looked a lot more like Diego… Alejandro seemed to read the sergeant's mind and reached over to pick up the crumpled hat and place it on his son's head. The sergeant pressed his lips together; a small part of him wanted to laugh.

"Well, Sergeant," Zorro rasped, "it looks like you can finally claim your reward." He was leaning heavily against his father and in obvious pain. "I am in no condition to escape capture at the moment."

"Oh, no, Señor Zorro," Garcia replied emphatically, "It would not be right to collect the reward, not after everything you have done for us tonight." He looked at the woman standing beside him. "Not after you saved Eva's life."

"You may not want to, but I doubt all of your lancers will feel the same way," Zorro added wryly.

The sergeant's forehead crinkled in confusion. "I do not understand."

"I sent word to the cuartel of your location," the fox clarified. "I am not sure how much time has passed, but they will probably be here soon."

Garcia's shoulders slumped forward and he exchanged a worried glance with Eva. How were they going to get Zorro away from here? "Maybe they will not look down here for you," he pondered aloud. "You can then escape after they leave."

"We can not take that risk," Alejandro asserted. "Can you stand?" he asked his son.

Zorro grunted and struggled to his feet, continuing to lean heavily against his father who was practically holding him up. "I'm not going to get very far," he observed. "The lancers will be looking for all three of you. If you return to the camp, they should not find me here."

"What about Roland?" Eva asked softly. "The lancers will have to come down here to bury the body. A little white lie about the man who saved our lives is one thing, but Demetrio cannot neglect his duties and withhold that kind of information."

"That is true," Garcia sighed. "I will have to fill out reports and Silvio will want to know the fate of his brother. I must order the soldiers to the beach."

"Well, we cannot take him up the trail," Alejandro reasoned. He turned his eyes to the sergeant, "Are there any more paths to the top? Something more easily negotiated?"

"If there are, I don't know about them," Garcia said, bowing his head.

"There are some small caves to the south," Zorro pointed to an area of land that jutted into the ocean. "I will take cover there until they are finished."

"And leave you here alone?" Alejandro declared. "I will have none of that."

"It is not your decision, Don Alejandro," Zorro argued, his voice becoming stronger as he put emphasis on his father's name. "You cannot be caught aiding a bandit such as me."

The two men stared at each other with steely determination. The sergeant gulped and resisted the urge to step back. While he agreed with Alejandro, he wasn't sure he wanted to see them come to blows. The de la Vegas were famous for their temper, after all. Besides, it was so strange hearing Diego – no, Zorro; oh, it was all so confusing! – address his father by name and watching them at odds like this.

The older don suddenly let out a deep breath and broke the eye contact. Garcia couldn't believe it!

"I will help you, even though this plan of yours is against my better judgment," Alejandro muttered. He wrapped his arm around Diego's waist, while his son rested an arm over his father's shoulder. The two slowly began heading toward the caves, but Garcia wasn't sure Alejandro could bear the younger man's weight for such a distance.

"Please let me help you. I will not try anything," he offered. "Please?"

Zorro grinned and waved for him to come over. The sergeant got on the masked man's other side and hesitantly took hold of his friend. Oh, this was very strange indeed!

They had not gotten very far when a loud neigh from behind startled all of them. Garcia twisted his head and saw the big, black stallion rear up. Tornado trotted past them, circled around and walked right up to the men. The sergeant's body immediately stiffened, fearing the horse would consider him a threat to his master. Instead, he nudged Zorro in the chest.

"Good boy," the fox uttered, grimacing slightly. He rubbed the animal's nose. "Good boy."

"How did he get from way up there to down here?" Garcia asked incredulously, pointing above.

"Does it really matter?" Eva whispered to him, her face filled with joy.

"Can you ride?" Alejandro inquired in a hopeful tone, ignoring the sergeant's question.

"I'll manage," Zorro responded. With help from his father, he swung onto the saddle, albeit with a little less grace than he usually displayed. As he maneuvered Tornado around, Eva called out to him.

"Señor Zorro," she looked directly into his eyes, "gracias."

"You're welcome, Señora." The fox smiled, gave them his customary salute and encouraged his stallion into a slow trot.

Garcia grinned, suddenly realizing how familiar that gesture was. How was it that he never noticed the similarities between them before? When the horse and rider disappeared into the darkness, he turned to Eva, only she wasn't by his side anymore. He never even detected her slipping away. "What are you doing?" the sergeant exclaimed when he saw her approaching Roland's body.

Paying no attention to his booming voice, she knelt down next to the corpse and tentatively reached into the man's jacket pocket. With her thumb and index finger, she pulled out a folded piece of paper by the corner. "I am getting my map."

"You can't be serious," Garcia grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face.

"It's mine," Eva stated firmly as she stood. "Javier left it to me."

"But it is cursed!" Garcia argued. "Just look at what happened to us tonight!"

"I told you before, I don't believe in curses. Besides, we are all still alive," she countered.

The sergeant threw up his hands in frustration. How could she be so stubborn? "Only a little while ago, you were dangling off a cliff! Zorro fell and was nearly killed. How can you say there is no curse?"

The combative expression on her face melted away and she pursed her lips together. Eva's eyes twinkled mischievously and her shoulders began twitching. "You look fine," she observed.

"I do?" he asked unexpectedly. His eyes narrowed. What exactly was that supposed to mean?

"I mean you do not look ill," she clarified, once again reading his mind.

"Why would I be ill?" Garcia questioned, the whole line of conversation not making any sense to him.

Eva couldn't suppress the laughter anymore. "Oh, Demetrio, you are so adorable when you are flustered. I am trying to say that you are not seasick anymore."

"Seasick?" he repeated. Eva pointed to the ocean waves lapping against the shore about thirty feet away. The sergeant looked down at his belly and grasped it with both hands. His eyes widened in surprise, "No, I am not feeling seasick anymore. But how can that be? Just the thought of waves has made me queasy ever since I was a child."

"Perhaps it's a side effect of the curse," Eva teased.

"Are both of you finished?" Alejandro interrupted, his arms folded over his chest. "You two bicker like an old married couple," he shook his head. "We need to be getting back to the camp."

"Ah, yes, well…" Garcia stuttered, his cheeks turning red. A married couple? Were they really like that? "Don Alejandro is right. We should go now."

* * *

Corporal Reyes and a regiment of lancers arrived at the campsite just as they made their way back from the beach. The sergeant instructed Reyes to bring the bandidos to the cuartel's jail and to arrange burial for the bodies of Roland and Xavier. While the corporal was at work, he would take Eva and Alejandro home.

A couple of hours later, Garcia pulled his horse to a stop outside of the de la Vega hacienda. Alejandro helped Eva down from the wagon they were riding in. He gave orders to Privates Sanchez and Herrera, who escorted them along the way, to remain outside the gate.

The three of them entered the patio area and Garcia sensed the older don was eager to excuse himself to check on his son, wherever he was at the moment. They were exchanging good nights when the door to the house opened and Diego strode out followed by Bernardo and Cresencia.

"Father, Doña Eva, where have you been?" he inquired anxiously. "When I returned home from visiting Padre Felipe, the door was kicked in and the window was shattered."

Garcia simply stood there, his mouth agape. It was impossible! The young don was cheerful and moved so effortlessly, so gracefully. His appearance was immaculate; not a single hair was out of place, his suit was flawlessly pressed and he had his usual charming smile that flashed his perfect white teeth. But how could he have recovered so quickly? Unless he was not the same man who fell off the cliff earlier…

"Diego, it's good to see you," Alejandro said embracing his son tightly, and the young caballero winced.

It was barely noticeable, but Garcia was positive he wasn't imagining it. Of course he would wince; his body must be badly bruised from the fall. The sergeant closed his mouth and allowed the corners of his lips to curl up. Maybe he was right about his friend after all.

"It's a long story, Diego," Alejandro finally answered. "I am exhausted, as I am sure Doña Eva is also. I will fill you in on all the details in the morning."

Sure he will, Garcia thought amusedly. It was fascinating watching his friends keep up the ruse.

"Why don't you head off to bed, Father, and I'll have Bernardo take care of the horses and wagon," Diego offered. He made a series of hand gestures to the deaf-mute that made the sergeant's head dizzy. But the little one appeared to understand them and went straight to the mares.

"Oh, Señora, what has happened to your lovely hands?" Cresencia cried out, coming closer to Eva. "And your ear?" The housekeeper shook her head. "I will help you get cleaned up and tend to the wounds."

The two women started climbing the stairs when Garcia took a deep breath, came to a decision and called out, "Eva, wait." Acting quickly before he changed his mind, he walked over to her. She was standing on the second step and their eyes were level. "Buenas noches," he said softly while leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"Buenas noches, Demetrio," she smiled, blushing slightly.

When the door to Eva's room closed, Garcia turned his attention back to the de la Vegas with a big, goofy grin plastered on his face. "I will bid you good night," he nodded, not wanting to ire the elder de la Vega.

"Father, you should get to bed, too," Diego added quietly. "I am sure the sergeant would like to check in on Private Hernandez before he leaves."

"Oh, I had almost forgotten about the private," Garcia mumbled sheepishly. "Corporal Reyes told me what happened. How is he doing?"

"Doctor Avilla says he will be fine," Diego assured him. "It may be a few weeks before he can return to duty, but he is young and strong. He should make a full recovery."

"That is good to hear," Alejandro declared.

"May I see him?" Garcia asked.

"Of course," Diego replied. "Follow me."

"Well, I will leave you two alone now. Buenas noches, mi hijo," Alejandro patted Diego gently on the shoulder. "Buenas noches, Sergeant."

Garcia nodded and followed Diego to the small guest room at the back of the hacienda. He gazed down at Private Hernandez who was sleeping soundly. The lancer's skin was so pale and he looked so young. Shaking his head at the unnecessary violence the private endured, he exited the room.

"Gracias for taking care of him," Garcia uttered.

"You do not need to thank us, Sergeant," Diego smiled. "He is welcome here for as long as is needed."

While they were walking back to the patio, Garcia noticed his friend was exerting more far more effort in moving than he was earlier. His posture was stiffer, the easy smile was gone and obvious stress ate away at his features. He suddenly felt guilty for his moment of triumph earlier at noticing Diego wincing.

"Don Diego, I…uh, I," Garcia stuttered.

"Is there something on your mind, Sergeant?"

Garcia looked into his friend's hazel eyes and for a brief second, he could have sword he saw a flash of fear in them. "Uh, no, it is nothing," he shrugged. All he wanted to do was thank the young don for saving their lives, for saving his life so many times, but somehow, it didn't seem right. It would change everything and he liked the way things were.

Besides, it was not his secret to tell.

"Buenas noches, Don Diego."

"Buenas noches, Sergeant."

* * *

Alejandro paced back and forth across the open space of his son's bedroom, his hands clasped behind his back. He glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle. Not even two minutes had passed since the last time he checked the time. The don rolled his eyes and continued pacing. The sound of the door handle turning caused him to stop abruptly.

"Diego," he uttered as his son walked thought the entrance of his room, "how are you feeling?"

"I'll be fine, Father," Diego responded, struggling to remove his jacket.

"Let me help you," Alejandro said, crossing the room. Once the article of clothing was shed, he reached up and started examining the back of the taller man's skull.

"What are you doing?" Diego inquired.

"I am checking to see how bad the damage is," Alejandro retorted. "I know fully aware you hit your head and I have every right to make sure you are okay." He paused, "Are you?"

"Bernardo has already poked and prodded me enough for one evening," Diego quipped. "I told you, I'll be fine. I just need a good night's rest." He pushed his father's hands away and sat heavily on the bed.

"You certainly don't look 'fine.' Now, do you want to try answering my question again?" Alejandro chided. "Remember, I'm your father and I know when you are lying to me."

Diego smiled and leaned against the pillows stacked neatly next to the headboard. With obvious effort, he swung his legs up on the mattress. "The dizziness and lightheadedness have passed," he said softly, "but my head is still pounding."

"Is that all?" Alejandro raised an eyebrow.

Diego narrowed his eyes and sighed, "My body is bruised from head to toe. It's very unlikely I'll be able to get out of bed tomorrow." His eyes sparkled mischievously. "I'd appreciate if you would take pity on me for sitting up all night to finish the book I started earlier. It was a rather exciting tale after all."

Alejandro couldn't resist laughing and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You put on quite a show for our friends earlier. I couldn't believe my eyes when you strolled out of the hacienda so cheerful and dapper."

"I have a feeling you weren't able to resist showing fatherly concern toward the masked bandit," Diego began explaining. "Sergeant Garcia is already suspicious of me. It's safe to say even he could draw all the right conclusions from tonight's events. I had to do something to throw him off my trail."

"I think it worked," Alejandro replied. "At the same time, I don't think you will have too many problems with our sergeant. He had the chance to arrest you and he didn't."

"That's what concerns me," Diego revealed. "Sergeant Garcia could be tried for treason if it's ever made known he assisted a wanted outlaw. I don't want to put him in the position of having to choose between his friendship with me and his duties to the king. It's not fair to him."

"I see your point, my son."

"I only wish you didn't hug me so hard," Diego added wryly.

"Are you looking for an apology?" Alejandro asked disbelievingly. "I'll make a deal with you. The day you watch your son hurtle off a cliff, you come to me and see if you still want that apology."

Diego pressed his lips together and looked away. "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't intend to scare you, but I couldn't let Roland harm Doña Eva."

"I know you didn't, mi hijo," Alejandro said soothingly. "I am very proud of you for what you did, but I have never been more terrified in all my life. For a time, I thought…I thought I had lost you…"

"Father, I…" Diego struggled, words failing him.

Silence filled the room as both men sat there, reflecting on the night's events. Alejandro patted his son's shoulder and finally broke the somber mood. "Just promise me that you will never do anything so brash again."

Diego arched an eyebrow.

"Well, at least nothing so reckless in front of me," he amended.

Diego laughed, "I promise, Father, I have no intention of hurtling off a cliff again. Once was enough."

"I will hold you to that, mi hijo," Alejandro mockingly reprimanded. "Oh, and speaking of cliffs, I had a rather interesting conversation with Sergeant Garcia this afternoon while inviting him to a glass of wine. He was regaling me with tales of chasing Zorro in the hills."

"Oh?" Diego inquired.

Alejandro smirked. He knew that look on his son's face; it was that same guilty expression he donned as a child when he was caught during one of his so-called adventures. "The sergeant was telling me about the many times he lost the fox when the masked man and that devil of a horse jumped Diablo's Canyon."

That guilty face melted into one of amusement.

"Diablo's Canyon?" Alejandro repeated, unable to hide his fury at his son's wild ways. "Are you crazy, Diego? And why am I only just now hearing of it?"

"Perhaps because you do not enjoy the company of the sergeant very often," Diego put forth innocently.

"This is not funny, Diego."

"Well, in my defense," his son offered, "it was Tornado who jumped it. I was just along for the ride."

Alejandro shook his head and threw his hands up in defeat. "What am I going to do with you? You are too much like your mother's family. The de la Vegas…" he trailed off when he looked back at Diego's features again. The trace of a small smile was still evident on his lips, but his eyes were closed. "Your mother was the only other person who could fall asleep when I was on a tirade, too," he whispered.

He sat there for a long time, reluctant to leave his son's side. The fear from earlier was still too near, too fresh. When he was content Diego was soundly sleeping, he untied the younger man's cravat and undid the top button of his shirt. He then pulled off his boots and found a blanket on the shelf of the wardrobe. Covering the slumbering form, his heart swelled with pride for the son he raised. "Good night, mi hijo. Sleep tight; you deserve it."

* * *

Sergeant Garcia plopped his weary frame onto the bed. He was exhausted in a way he never before felt. The night had been both physically and emotionally draining. Ready to just crawl under the covers still wearing his uniform, he grudgingly began unbuttoning the blue jacket. Shrugging out of it, he tossed it on a nearby chair, not bothering to pick it up when it fell to the wayside instead. He stretched his back and was tugging off his boots when his eyes fell on the trunk in the corner of the room.

The sergeant slowly stood up and walked over to it. He bent down, his muscles protesting all the way, and opened the lid. Over twenty years in the army and his life fit into one standard issue trunk. If he wasn't so tired, he might have found it profoundly sad. Especially since over half those years he was assigned to Los Angeles. Surely, there would be more to show for his life that just this?

Rifling through the garments, he finally found what he was searching for. He held the small velvet pouch in his hand. Pulling the drawstrings open, he held it upside down and let the contents fall into his other hand. The two rings brought a tear to Garcia's eyes. They had belonged to his mother and she gave them to her oldest son shortly before she died, encouraging him to bestow them on the woman who stole his heart. It never happened… until now.

The betrothal ring was a simple, thin gold band with a small polished stone. The sergeant wasn't even sure what kind of stone it was, just that it was bluish green in color. The wedding band was also a plain gold band. His father was a simple famer and couldn't afford much, but they had a happy life together.

Studying the rings, Garcia knew they weren't the style of jewelry a doña such as Eva was accustomed to, but she didn't place much value on material possessions. She wouldn't be ashamed to wear something that belonged to his family. At least he hoped she wouldn't be.

It was less than a half hour ago that he left the de la Vega hacienda, adamant that he liked the way things were and he didn't want to change anything. Putting the pieces of jewelry back into the velvet pouch, he pulled the strings shut and sat down on the bed again. Sergeant Garcia smiled.

He was ready for a change after all.


	12. Epilogue

**The Curse of the Santa Quintero**

**Epilogue**

**Seven months later…**

Demetrio Lopez Garcia stood in front of the full length mirror, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on his uniform. When the blue and gray fabric was flattened to his satisfaction, he started tugging at the charreteras fastened to each shoulder, trying to adjust them so they were level. Giving up on the task, he moved on to fidgeting with the ceremonial red sash draped across his chest.

With a shake of his head, Garcia turned sideways and observed his profile in the mirror. He took a deep breath and sucked in his stomach. Rubbing his hand over his belly, he admired his slimmer silhouette. Unable to hold it in any longer, he exhaled loudly and watched his round form reappear. Well, at least he wasn't any bigger after eating so many of his fiancée's pastries.

His fiancée… The word had such a nice ring to it. Eva decided her betrothed was the best person to taste her recipes, explaining that the expression on his face when the food touched his tongue never lied. So, while waiting for her bakery to be rebuilt, she took over the de la Vega's kitchen and cooked up a storm.

Garcia may as well have died and gone to Heaven. Not only did he enjoying spending time at the future Señora Garcia's side, he also got to sample all of the delectable treats! Eating all that rich cuisine should have left him twice the size, but he didn't even gain a pound. There were also the special bottles of wine Don Alejandro insisted he try. Life was definitely good.

A knock on the door stirred him from his thoughts. "How are you feeling, Lieutenant?" Diego inquired entering the small room at the rear of the church.

"Oh, I doubt I will ever get tired of hearing that," Garcia beamed. "Lieutenant Demetrio Lopez Garcia…"

"The new uniform also suits you well," Diego added in a cheerful tone.

"Gracias, Don Diego, gracias," Garcia grinned, looking back into the mirror. He marveled at the two gold stars that replaced his sergeant's stripes.

"But your charreteras are a little crooked." The caballero moved closer, "May I?"

"Oh, please do, Don Diego," Garcia replied enthusiastically. "I have been struggling with them all day."

It only took the young don a few minutes to adjust the decorative shoulder pieces so they were straight. "There," he stepped back, nodding his head in approval. "So, Lieutenant, the ceremony will be getting underway shortly. Are you developing cold feet?"

"Oh, no, my feet are very warm," Garcia answered.

Diego laughed softly. "I am afraid you misunderstand me, Lieutenant. It's an old expression that means to become nervous or to lose your courage. The Americanos like to use it to describe bridegrooms."

"I knew that," Garcia sighed. "I guess I am more nervous than I thought." He began lowering his frame into a nearby chair. The seat of his trousers barely brushed against the upholstered piece of furniture when he suddenly bolted upright and squared his posture. Racing to the mirror, he was relieved to see his uniform was still wrinkle free, but couldn't resist from fiddling with the sash some more.

"That's perfectly understandable," Diego reassured him. "It shows your heart is in the right place. I'd be suspicious of a bridegroom who wasn't jittery on his wedding day. After all these years as a bachelor and a soldier in the service of our king, it will come as quite a change being a married man. You'll be starting a new chapter of your life."

"Sí, there will be many changes," Garcia agreed, his friend's confident tone helping to soothe the officer's nerves. "The strangest part will be having a real home instead of the barracks. Regulations state a married officer may reside outside of the cuartel, but we still haven't decided where we will live. I think Eva wants to continue staying in the quarters above the bakery."

"I can see her reasoning," Diego replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "With all that has happened in the past year, she is probably reluctant to give up her own space. Losing two homes in a matter of weeks must have been difficult for her."

"That is true," Garcia mumbled while glancing around the small space. In addition to the mirror, a desk was wedged into the far corner and four chairs were positioned around the room. They were all so inviting, but the groom didn't dare sit down in fear of creasing his clothes. He swung his arms back and forth to keep from crossing them over his chest and ruffling the sash.

"Why don't you try leaning against the desk?" Diego commented with a wink. "It shouldn't rumple your uniform too much. Besides, it looks like you need to sit down."

"Gracias, Don Diego," the lieutenant nodded, carefully perching on the edge of the furniture. "It's hard to believe this is all really happening. A small part of me keeps waiting to wake up and find it's all a dream. Who would have pictured me surviving a curse and about to marry to a beautiful señora?"

"Don't tell me you still believe in curses?" Diego replied incredulously.

Garcia laughed, "Now you are sounding like Eva. She teases me about it, too."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Diego grinned. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the back of a nearby chair. "Doña Eva is a smart woman. You should listen to her."

The lieutenant crinkled his eyebrows questioningly. "It seems like we have had this conversation before," he observed, "and you said exactly the same thing, that I should listen to her."

"Well, if you paid attention to me the first time around, I would not have to repeat it," Diego joked. "The way I see it, this so-called curse of the _Santa Quintero_ was really a blessing in disguise."

"A blessing?" Garcia repeated disbelievingly. "We were nearly killed. How is that a blessing?"

Diego lowered his head and chuckled. Straightening his tall frame, he walked over and sat on the edge of the desk next to the groom. "You need to a more optimistic point of view. It's because of the _Santa Quintero_ that you were able to arrest a gang of dangerous bandits and recover the map to the lost treasure. That's a remarkable accomplishment, Lieutenant."

"That map," Garcia rolled his eyes. "That map is a curse all of itself."

"What are you talking about?" Diego asked in confusion.

Garcia shook his head. "Are you forgetting that the government confiscated the map from Eva, claiming the treasure rightfully belonged to the king? If it was not for the report I had to make, all of those riches would be hers. Trunks full of gold, silver and gemstones…and she lost it because of me." He sighed and allowed his shoulder to slump forward, momentarily forgetting about wrinkles.

"Cheer up, Lieutenant," Diego reached over and patted him on the shoulder. "They did offer Doña Eva a generous reward she used to rebuild her bakery with. She has her shop and she has you. I think that is all that matters to her."

"I always thought the officials in Santa Barbara ignored our reports," Garcia muttered, disregarding his friend, "but boy, did they show up here fast when they learned about the map!"

"Who says the government isn't efficient?" Diego quipped.

He tilted his head and looked at the caballero. Diego was laughing softly, his shoulders rising and falling with amusement, a hand covering his mouth. "It is not funny!" Garcia exclaimed in exasperation.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," Diego apologized, his eyes still glinting with merriment. "I didn't mean to imply the situation is funny. It's just that you have the greatest treasure of all and don't seem to realize it."

"What treasure?" Garcia repeated in annoyance. "I told you the king took it away from her."

"I am talking about Doña Eva," Diego stated emphatically. "You are about to marry a woman who loves you and has an amazing ability in the kitchen – a talent you have a great admiration for, I might add."

"Hmm, when you phrase it that way," Garcia pondered aloud, "I suppose I do have a treasure after all." He straightened his back proudly, his expression beaming with joy.

"Finally," the caballero uttered, raising a hand to massage his temple.

Garcia frowned, "Are you getting a headache, Don Diego?"

"No, I'm fine, Lieutenant." The younger man lowered his hand and smiled. "Now that we've established the map is only a piece of paper, have we finally put an end to your belief in evil curses?"

"Well…" Garcia simply shrugged, not knowing how to respond. Of course he still believed in them, but it was obvious his friend didn't want to hear that.

"Nothing has happened to the soldiers and officials that recovered the treasure," the caballero countered.

"Not yet, anyway," Garcia groaned. "Give it time."

Diego rested his palms on the desk and bent forward a little. He rolled his head to the side and studied the officer. "If there was in fact a curse, how do you explain collecting the reward money for stopping five bandits, four of whom were wanted for murder in Mexico? Carlos and Tacito were convicted and hanged for killing eight people and Silvio is serving twelve years in prison for robbery. You performed your duty as a brave soldier of the king and were rewarded with a promotion. It would not surprise me if you were appointed permanent commandante of the pueblo soon. So, tell me, Lieutenant, where is the curse?"

Garcia chewed on his lower lip. "It wasn't me who captured them, it was Zorro," he confessed, keeping his eyes aimed at the floor. It was strange discussing the fox with…well, the fox. The lieutenant wasn't sure he could keep up the act right now without his tongue slipping.

For over two years, Diego de la Vega and the outlaw Zorro were two separate people, yet now it was hard to think of him – or was it them? – that way. Garcia struggled every day with keeping the secret, fearing he would do something or say something that would endanger his friend's life. At times, he was sure that Diego must suspect the soldier knew, but the young don never approached the subject. It was possible the caballero attributed the soldier's nervous behavior to becoming a bridegroom.

Thankfully, the pueblo had been quiet for the most part and there was little need for Zorro to ride. Garcia didn't have to worry about relating his occasionally exaggerated tales of chasing the fox in the hills while sharing a drink with the young don in the tavern. Visits to the hacienda were spent happily discussing Eva's new bakery and planning the upcoming wedding. It was easier pretending he didn't know when the masked bandit wasn't mentioned.

But now…now it wasn't so easy.

Garcia was alone with the fox, broaching the taboo topic. Deep down, the lieutenant was even a little bit afraid of what Diego would do upon learning the officer figured out the truth. "Zorro deserves the credit for stopping the bandits, not me," he added softly, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

"You're being far too modest, Lieutenant," Diego responded gently. "My father would never have been able to pull Doña Eva to safety without your assistance." The caballero looked directly at the lieutenant, his hazel orbs teeming with gratitude. "You also saved my father's life. We are both deeply indebted to you for that."

Garcia shifted uncomfortably and blushed at the praise.

"Besides," Diego added with a sly grin, "from what I heard, you saved Zorro's life not once, but twice."

"I did?" Garcia replied in amazement.

"There's that modesty again," Diego chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest again. "Didn't you warn him when one of the bandits aimed a pistol at him?"

"Sí, I did," Garcia answered enthusiastically, realizing for the first time that he did indeed save the fox that night. "Xavier was going to shoot Zorro when he was busy disarming Silvio." His eyes narrowed and he crinkled his brow in confusion, "How did I save him a second time? Don Alejandro and I were able to pull Eva to safety, but Zorro fell before we got the rope back down to him."

"My father told me that Roland bragged that he would kill him, then the fox," Diego explained.

"That is probably true," Garcia agreed. "Roland was an evil one." The lieutenant tilted his head and tried to keep his expression neutral. He wasn't sure what to make of this very peculiar conversation. Was this Diego's – or Zorro's – way of thanking him? How did the caballero maintain the charade day in and day out? Garcia was all mixed up and he wasn't the one living two lives.

"If you want my opinion, I'd say that if the curse of the _Santa Quintero_ really did exist, it met its match and lost to you, Lieutenant," Diego grinned broadly. "And I cannot think of a more deserving man to be promoted for his efforts."

"Gracias, Don Diego," Garcia beamed. His friend's confidence in him boosted the officer's spirits, while also driving away any lingering doubts he held about not deserving his promotion. After all, if Diego _and _Zorro both thought he was fit for the job, he must be!

The lieutenant's thoughts drifted back to the caballero's earlier words. His friend was right; this was the start of a new chapter in his life. It was a chapter Garcia wanted to start out on the right foot. He didn't want it to be one of deception and lies. While it was not his secret to tell, it was not his secret to conceal from the fox either.

"You know, Don Diego," he began with more conviction than he felt, "I have been thinking a lot about Zorro lately."

"Oh?" the young man said cautiously.

"Sí, and I realized something." The lieutenant risked a peek at the young don and was surprised to see his posture stiffen. It was so unlike Diego. Garcia swallowed hard, suddenly wondering if this was the right thing to do. "I realized that Zorro is very much my friend," he clarified. "He is as much my friend as you are, Don Diego."

"I'd be careful who I express that observation to," the caballero warned.

"Oh, I wouldn't tell just anyone that," Garcia replied, fully aware of the ramifications of his words. By aiding a wanted outlaw, he could be drummed out of the army – or worse, be tried for treason. He and Eva made a vow to never speak of the matter; both would take Diego's secret to their graves. The real danger now was how his friend would react.

Since Diego was in a jovial mood, and more importantly unarmed, there would be no danger in revealing the truth. It wasn't like the noble son of a respected hacendado would cut a 'Z' in him, right? Padre Felipe would frown upon violence in the walls of the church. There weren't even any sharp objects in the small room to cut a 'Z' with. And after all, it was the officer's wedding day.

Garcia cleared his throat. While a smidgen of courage still flowed through his veins, he quickly voiced his feelings. "It is nice having both of my friends as my best man."

"What did you say?" Diego asked disbelievingly. He was standing now, his stance alert and guarded.

"I said it is nice having both of my friends as my best man. Not everyone is so lucky." Garcia struggled to keep from snorting. It wasn't everyday he managed to astonish the legendary fox.

"I wondered if you figured it out." Diego sighed and sat back on the desk. "Lieutenant, I…I'm sorry for putting you in this position. I never wanted you to have to choose between your duty and our friendship."

"But you are not sorry for the deception?" Garcia inquired, already sensing the answer.

"If I said yes, I'd be lying," Diego replied, a sad smile forming on his lips. "I've had to deceive everyone I care about since returning to California. The disguise was necessary in order to take action; to do what I thought was right."

"You do not have to explain it to me," Garcia said, studying the caballero. It was strange seeing Diego so vulnerable. "I have had time to think about everything and I understand why you did what you did."

"So, does this mean you aren't going to arrest me today?" Diego remarked wryly.

"Arrest my best man before the wedding? Never," Garcia declared resolutely. "But I am looking forward to the next time I have to chase the fox in the hills. There's always a good story to tell about that rascal."

Diego chuckled. "Speaking of Zorro, I'd appreciate if you didn't mention his antics to my…" He didn't have a chance to finish the sentence; a knock on the door drew both men's attention.

"Ah, Lieutenant," Don Alejandro greeted in a cheerful tone entering the room. "Are you ready? Padre Felipe is eager to get the ceremony underway."

Garcia stood and walked over to the mirror. He took a deep breath as he scrutinized his uniform in the refection. Smoothing out a few last wrinkles, he nodded in satisfaction. "Sí, I am ready," he smiled. Squaring his shoulders and straightening his back, Lieutenant Demetrio Lopez Garcia started toward the door when he was stopped by the older de la Vega.

"I know this may not be the ideal time, but I was hoping to ask a favor of you, Lieutenant."

Garcia shot a curious glance to Diego, who appeared to be equally intrigued by his father's request. "I would be happy to do you a favor, Don Alejandro."

"Considering that you are about to be married, and that you are good friends with my son," the older don hesitated for a moment, "Would you perhaps give him some advice on successfully courting a woman?"

The indignant look on Diego's face made the bridegroom laugh heartily out loud, his booming baritone voice bouncing off the walls.

"I want grandchildren before I die," Alejandro defended to his son.

"Sí, I would be happy to," Garcia replied joyfully. Who would have ever imagined the bumbling soldier helping the dashing rogue court a señorita? He couldn't wait to tell his bride about this.

**The End**

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A/N: I had a lot of fun writing _The Curse of the Santa Quintero_ and I hope you have all enjoyed the ride as much as I have. My heartfelt thanks go out to everyone who has been reading. Extra special thanks to those who have been kind enough to leave a review. This is a learning experience for me, so the feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you! :-)


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